Duel of the Personalities

I am two people these days, and perhaps I’m more but I can only define this morning two primary personalities.

The one who has lived without many technological comforts for 32 yeas has a reclusive streak.  She enjoys hearing the silence in the walls when no electricity hums.  She feels the blessing of the beauty that touches her eyes and skin every day.   The quietness and deep darkness allows contemplation and creativity, and she relishes having the space and time to pursue all that interests her in reading, writing, sewing, quilting, beading, praying.  Her days are a rhythm unto themselves and she needs no one to tell her what to do.   Her complaint is that she is less able to do her desired activities because she must maintain her home and land, be aware of systems that support her, and she’s out of sorts when these things fail.  The manual labor to maintain the house and ditches and the road and fallen trees are beyond her.   Contemplation is denied; only yearned for.

For years, she had the indoor duties taken care of and a few of the outdoor one, but splitting wood is more than a chore.  It’s an impossibility.

The other woman wants to play, to sing and dance, be with people without a care.  She loves the thought of acting, swimming with dolphins, singing in a choir, make –up, fashionable clothes, volunteering.  She likes to talk on the phone when she wants to be available for other friends, and do projects with them, plus plan her own.  She likes to flirt and dance crazy dances and be seen.  In the past two years, she’s driven across country by herself and back, she’s stood in the middle of a prairie and inhaled the fresh air.  She’s walked the streets of a few cities, trying to decide if she wants to live in a walk-up and relish the incessant sounds of people.  She is forever looking for new experiences and talks to anyone wherever she is.

The move back and forth between these two within the same body is disturbing.  They don’t know how to deal with each other.

Sometimes, they fight over who’s going to be present and make the body in which they dwell so tired it just curls up and naps or conks out for ten hours of sleep, starting at 8pm.  Sometimes one wakes the other up.  The inside woman wants to write.  The outside woman wants to party.  Both can’t be done at the same time, so they better learn to get along or I’m going to have to find a new me that incorporates them both.