Dangerous Compassions

busted up RV

Hey, wow, I missed a day blogging yesterday.  That’s unusual.  But I know why–I’m doing this Alternatives to Suicide training, and it’s a four hour zoom.  Doesn’t work well for me.  I can barely do it.

Struggling to engage right.  I feel like the weirdo of the world.  I want to contribute, but what I say doesn’t fit.  Being who I am and loving myself is hard, sometimes.  But I keep trying.

Now I’m with Ming in a hotel in Amargosa Valley very near California.  Ming is sleeping great.  I want to do so many things.

busted up rv

Apropos of nothing, we went for a walk yesterday morning–I like a Walk-n-Talk, lately.  I have some energy.  Winter is so much better.

We took pics of an abandoned busted up RV at the end of our street.  I find this kind of thing beautiful.  Don’t mind me.


busted up rv

busted up rv

busted up rv

busted up rv

busted up rv

busted up rv

I don’t enjoy destroying property or breaking glass, but I love to see where other people did.  This busted up rv is singing stories to me that I want to turn away from but need to hear.  Restlessness, good faith, desire for adventure.  Money, trying to placate self or a dissatisfied spouse.  We will improve our life–we will fill an empty space with a huge purchase that represents freedom.

Then conflict, loss, inability to care for responsibilities.  Freedom cannot be bought, and spouses can’t be pacified.  What to do with big trash in a world where everything is disposable.  The cost to buy it, the cost to get rid of it–the price of everything, in a world where making money is more important than life.

I can’t help but think someone needs some obscure part on this RV.  A strange connector, odd fuse, or engine part that was only on this year of sun cruiser.

It’s the mechanic’s daughter in me, the saver in me.  Junkyard queen, trash treasurer.  I love our neighborhood.  Who needs a dumpster.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

One reply on “busted up RV”

What wonderful prose Laura-Marie. Thank you for making a pile of junk so wondorus! Reminds me of visiting my sister at art school. There was a pile of rusted junk sitting in a corner, welded togeather. From underneath an electrical cord protruded to a foot switch. At first I hesitated and then I stepped on the switch. The pile of junk moved up and to the left ever so slightly, then relaxing with the quiver of the many springs, making a noise like a grunt. That was it, until I closed the switch again. How fun!

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