What is mine

 This morning after the usual waking rituals of tea, breakfast and morning talk, I went to the next ritual of get dressed.  I noticed myself carefully picking up my bed clothes, folding them and putting them in the dresser that is my space. Then I thought about why. 
In my house and life with Mr Footless I next to never did this.  In that place and time I did not pick up and put away, sort, gather, or throw away.  the house reflected this in a disordered mess that was both infuriating and very comforting. It was mine and therefore I could put it away or not.  So I didn't.
In the places that I have been living over the last months, I have tried to be very very respectful of the shelter that I have been offered.  So why?
I seem to have a very deeply ingrained sense of mine and thine.  The training of don't touch what isn't yours has been written inside my head with a flaming sword.
Well, I have lived in places all my life that were not mine.  The only place that has been mine as in I bought it I take care of it it is mine has been shared with Mr Footless and his sense of space made having space to myself that I could order or not as I chose difficult or impossible as his disorders and pain have gotten greater and more uncontrollable over the last years.
Suddenly I sit here with tears in my eyes and a sense of dislocation and loss.  I have no place I call mine to lay my head, to keep my things.
Every day I must be so careful not to trespass on the space and ownership of the very kind people that have generously given me a place to stay.
Every day I have it in my lap that I am here because I can't go back to  live in a place with such insanity in residence. 
What has me in tears is the strong awareness that All of my life I have felt that I had to toe that line.  Inspite of all the kindness I have had showered on me I feel a burden and unwelcome, intrusive and unable to avoid intruding.
It's a broken place and I can't see how to mend it.

A resting place on the road

dear Aunt Ruth,
this is a day to take a breath and then get on with whatever life has in store for me next.
I have moved on from my  one friend's house.  I spent an uncomfortable few days living in my office, Something that Dad thought might be a good idea.  Trust me, sleeping in a Doctor's office has a lot in the down side. Like scaring the cleaning crew who likewise scared the heck out of me by popping into my room and turning on the overhead light at 2 AM.  Massage tables are not good places to get a great night's sleep.  They are high, hard and creak loudly when you turn over.
This week I am staying with another good friend while her spouse is out of town.  This has been planned for a long time, so it was on the schedule no matter what had happened.  I am very grateful for the shelter, She has been a good friend for a long time.
I still feel very sad.  I realize that I am deeply homesick for Mr Footless as he was in the past.  He has not been the person that I miss for a long time, and when we are in contact I keep looking at him and wondering "who are you, and what did you do with my husband?"
I also miss a house that I wanted and never had. 
Mr Footless is not doing well. I think that managing on his own is more difficult than he would admit.
Among the things he has offered me as (I think) some sort of bait to come home is the great privilege of cleaning out the refrigerator.  Just so long as I leave his Mountain Dew alone.  Oh and he wants to pass judgement on what gets thrown out. 
I pass.
I have no real idea what my next housing solution will be.  My good friend is enjoying my presence here.  She has mentioned negotiating rent and having me stay for a more extended length of time.  Time will tell.
Say hello to Uncle Bill and Uncle Jim and tell them I miss them.
Dances