Shifting Quicksand

So, that's what it feels like anyway.  Quicksand, sucking me under, but quicksand that moves so that I don't know from one instant to the next if I'm looking at a jungle, a desert, the ocean floor, or the rings of Saturn.

My roles in life are in flux - never a comfortable state.  Here I am, not even fully moved into Son's house, surrounded by stuff of mine that I don't know what to do with and need to do something with and not feeling able to do a damned thing.  Son hasn't been here when I was actually awake, but for about 3 hours, since I moved in a couple of days ago.  I can't carry stuff upstairs to put away.  We've not had a chance to discuss expectations.  Not about the important stuff, or even the inconsequential stuff (like is it OK for me to set a full garbage bag in the garage or does he want me to drag it around to the side of the house).  I don't know if he wants me to decide where to put things on my own or if he wants input or even if he wants total control.  I don't know what he expects me to do or not to do.  I don't even know for sure yet what each power switch controls.  I have shit still - a lot of it, since he told me that he'd pack the stuff up because he could do it much faster (indisputably the truth) - at the apartment, and only a 9 year old to help with it.  There's a limit to how much I can carry.  A pretty big limit to how much I can carry.

All of that is just junk, just external stuff.  What's troubling the most is the feeling of uncertainty, of being adrift and not even being sure that anyone knows I'm at sea much less with a disintegrating boat.  If I had a grip on what the patterns of life are to be here, I could handle whatever comes up.  I could figure out a way to take care of what I need to take care of, even if that way is setting alight furniture I can't move on my own.  But not knowing ... that's a lot tougher.

I know we're not going back to mother/son -- neither of us really want that.  I don't know if I'm more roommate or more guest, and the roles and responsibilities of each are very very different.  Yeah, I'm going to screw up.  Hey, that was obvious, since this is, after all, still ME.  I can handle that.  We're going to rub each other the wrong ways from time to time.  That's expected and we know how to get beyond that - had a lot of practice with that over the years.  I also need to see to PT's needs and such.  Oh, I can handle the food and clothing bits.  But I haven't got a handle on what they've set as guidelines for her in a lot of ways, nor more importantly, how much leeway I now have to alter those.

So ... who am I now?

Yet another reinvention.  I'm so very tired of it.  Bone weary.