July 6th, the 6th day of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. I’m a day behind. I should stop talking about catching up. I’ll just keep going from where I am. I don’t know why I am so busy. I live such a boring mundane life. I hardly go anywhere. I go shopping only when I have to. It’s an ordeal when I do. I’m exhausted when I get home, more so in these Covid-19 times.
I’m feeling that way now, exhausted. I’m sweating and sipping dandelion tea. Beer would be more cooling. I’m pecking away at my keyboard, hoping for a steady flow of words and thoughts. So far, so good. Some days I struggle and stutter. I really do not want to struggle so much. I do not want to allow the woman next door make me feel as if I’ve just come through a great illness. That’s how her energy affects me. I’ve found Dr. Les Carter’s little short videos helpful in steering me in the right direction.
I’m working on disengaging from her energy. She loves to tantalize and get me worked up. She is quite clever at this. I have to give her that. She must spend time studying my habits and routines and my responses. Of course she’s had 12 years to do it. I, on the other hand haven’t been smart or observant. I fall into her traps frequently. The only thing I know for sure is she won’t/can’t change. But I can.
I know I am not a mean person. I don’t go out of my away to cause a neighbour harm or annoyance. But after years of harassment sometimes I do feel maybe it is my fault. But when I come down to it, I wonder what and why is it my fault. I don’t do anything to her. I don’t trespass on her property. I don’t engage with her except when provoked. She, on the other hand, has trespassed on my property many times, sprayed pesticide in my garden, had her friend cart off stuff she thinks is junk on our property, pushed and scraped away all the mulch around our cedar trees, pulled out our fencing to hold the mulch around our cedars, throw my landscape rocks at me. I could write a book about her.
Maybe I will one day when I’m feeling better. Now, I am working on not letting just the sight of her get me riled up. This morning I watched in silence as she skipped across the street and back with coffee from her man buddy, Al’s. I’m working on less conversation about her. More will be poison. Obviously I have to talk about her here. I know I cannot eliminate it altogether. I am, alas, too human. I am like Sheba with a bone. I will do the best I can. I know I am a good person. I do not work at causing somebody misery for no reason. I know my true self.