It’s the suburbs, and I have realized in the suburbs someone is pretty much always sawing wood or blowing leaves. All day, there is the sound of machinery. I have not lived in the suburbs as an adult before, and I did not know this. I grew up in the suburbs, but we did not hire gardeners. Those were different days. Or, we were from a different class. Maybe both.
I react to machinery. This is why it is relevant.
I was thinking today it’s somehow easier to think of things in terms of injustice or whether something breaks rules than whether people are responsive. There is something widgety about this. It’s okay to be upset because something broke the rules. It isn’t okay to expect life to respond to you.
Of course, people’s need to get their yardwork done isn’t going to be responsive to me. They aren’t my friends. But the reason machinery is frightening to me in the first place is that my parents were so unresponsive to my need for safety that they did terrifying things with machines.
I don’t know where to go with that, but maybe it helps to link things to where they belong.
I was also thinking I wasn’t an easy child to raise. Abused children never are. They harmed me, and then were frustrated at the consequences of their actions, as though they assumed actions should not have consequences. Of course, they do.