For the first time in nine years living in Arizona, I can not welcome this rain. EVERY afternoon or night for several days the rain has soaked everything. I have no dry dog towels. The campsite is a mess, kitchen items and empty plastic water jugs muddy and scattered on the ground instead of organized. Witnessing a major lightning storm just over head from inside the car was scary. No protection but a metal roof and rubber tires, parked next to trees. The lightning was constant; the sky was lit up more than dark for at least an hour solid.
I’m wet. The dogs are wet. I stink. The dogs track mud on the car seat. Ants crawl inside the car. The bugfest has begun. I can’t have a flashlight on in the car without moths and other winged critters landing on and crawling over and bumping into me all over.
No, I had no idea, either, when I was in a house. No, no one else can have any idea if they live in a house.
Oh, and I discovered mold IN THE CAR under the cooler. I had become less vigilant when C gave me her old rarely used and waterproof cooler, the perfect size for the front passenger seat well. But when I lifted it out yesterday to pour out water and put in ice, I found mold from water that had dripped when I removed items.
This morning it was cool enough to sleep in. Yet I awoke groggy, depressed and exhausted. I could not fathom washing up. Or hanging the wet dog towels. Or boiling water for cocoa. Or doing anything but going into town to see if I had any inquiries about buying the flooring I have on Craigslist. I used the last Paypal balance to get gas and coffee.
It is impossible to describe my “state of being” when that level of shut down hits. No amount of pep talk or “just do it” philosophy penetrates that level of exhaustion and depression, especially when mold contributes to the physical state.