Sometimes All it Takes

I have really felt crappy for the last few weeks.  Yes, I know, I’m in the middle of moving so that shouldn’t really be surprising.  Change is hard.

I have been avoiding going back to the old house because part of me knew I just couldn’t deal with it.  In addition to moving stress, I’ve also been experiencing some relationship stress and work stress.  Nothing that isn’t being handled, but still.

I went over today with Dr. Love, anticipating the worst.  We are possibly putting the house on the market in about two weeks and I just KNEW that we had left it all trashed out.  I was freaking out about how we were going to get it ready in time.

I was wrong.

There is not stuff everywhere.  There is not trash and garbage strewn everywhere.  The floors are not really dirty, the kitchen is clean, the bathroom is manageable.

I obviously have a very vivid imagination, because I was preparing myself like I was going to walk into a crack house or something.

It even smelled good.  Hmph!

As I looked around the old house, I started to feel sad.  I miss all of my pretty things and my familiar things and my comfortable things.  I miss having a space that is nice and cozy and mine.

I bawled my damn head off.  Dr. Love didn’t get it.

I love the house we are in the process of moving into, but 40 years worth of my godparents’ stuff is in it.  I have no living room, I have no couches, no comfortable place to land.  The bedroom furniture isn’t mine.  The bathroom upstairs is pretty rad (thanks to lotsa work by QoB and The Bird Lady a few years ago), but it is missing my fish pictures and most of the beauty crap (that I never use, but always keep around).

The old house is painted in bright cheery colors and, really, the walls here seem darker.  It is a totally different style of house than what I am used to.

I have no doubt that I can make it my own, but I’ve done the damage I can do to it until we can get the rest of the things in here moved out.

Until then, I’ll just remain homesick, rattled, and ever aware of the tiny little changes this has all created in my routine.

Imogen Heap, Hide and Seek II


2 thoughts on “Sometimes All it Takes

  1. Whoops!! Or perhaps not. LOL… Such hi-tech BS.

    I remember a year, or so, from hell, where I spent all my spare time cleaning out a house I’d lived in for years. It all went really well, because it wasn’t necessarily the best of times.

    Right up to the point where I was running around a dust mop the “last day.” I cried. Actually, I bawled my head off. But was over it then.

    It gave me the ability to see it was what it was. And I’d moved forward. And leaving the bits of good stuff behind was okay, because there was sooo much better yet to come.

    ’twas a defining moment in my life. That there was a center to me, that followed regardless of where I was.

    eh… just random thoughts. Hella glad you were there for the ride.


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