Day 10, or something. Upon counting I realise that I am, in fact, correct. 5 more days of being here, and then one of travel and then boom, I am back in my other life. It’s a shock to the system, as always. I was hoping that this time it would be less though, having tackled things a bit, here at home. But here I am, 5 days left, feeling as though nothing has been accomplished. I am at once, relied on and detested. Despised and dependable. My normal sense of time, dependant parts needed to be ordered, causes, effects, and consequence thrown out of alignment because of another person’s grief, hormones, and related emotions. Here I am, feeling lost and discouraged. Stoned and resigned. I find, as usual, at a certain point in the voyage a sense of pointlessness. Dragged back in and under the fucking sad sea of the way things are here. Don’t believe, don’t have hope. Resign to the difficulty, the tragedy, the fucking emotional undertow of it all. Slow down, be still, revel in it.

I hate this way of doing things. Hate it. Amor Fati, I try to say to myself, Love thy Fate… is this my fate? Well, it is here, so I guess it is my fate. Maybe on some level, my sister is able to feel my help, my physical presence, as love. Maybe it gets through, although it comes in a package of annoying habits, ways, and actions, as myself. I hate being in a place where I do not feel liked, where I have to question my self too often, and feel like I am being constantly judged. This is some kind of lesson, maybe in radical self-acceptance, trying and testing the work I’ve been doing in the most tender and sensitive of situations, with my sister.

I guess that is it then – how can I be the most fully myself, loving and being true to who I am while interacting with the one human on the earth that has the longest relationship with me, or at least the closest, not counting the few aunts and uncles that I have left, on the peripheries. Here I am, faced with what is left of my family, the one who shares the love, loss, and tragedies with me, although hers are different, lived through the lens of the events of her upbringing, so different than mine. We share a story closer than with anyone else, which makes the disagreements and dislikes even that much harder, as they seem to exist in their own solitary world, involving no one else but us.

I am worn out from all of this. A full, large iced coffee is gone and I am still tired, deep in my bones. Nights like last fuck up my schedule, my plans. I was up until perhaps 4am, exhausted but unable or unwilling to sleep at a normal hour. I don’t know how I will pull this energy out of me but I must. Must go into nature today on a hike with my sister. I want to stay in bed, not at home but at a grand hotel with a heavenly bed. Not the couch or the pull-out at home. I don’t want to be in charge, to create the safe, sound ground on which or space in which to discuss and decide the fate of our house and our heritage. No, I want to be heard, to get it sorted in a way that works for both of us. To have to create this safety and hold this space, the mere thought of it is exhausting. But I will surrender to it and once again and figure it the fuck out. Loving it, that will be a challenge but I will fucking do it. Amor Fati, indeed.