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Ten years ago, give or take, I saw my first anime movie. I can’t remember the name of it right now, but I do remember the one scene my boyfriend wanted me to see. In it, the main character is trying to pull off the cover to a manhole. She struggles so much against the weight of it that she literally rips away her flesh. That’s kinda the way I feel right now. Only I’m not a Japanese cartoon. When I get the feeling that I want to rip my flesh away, I know I’m feeling just a tad stressed.
The new place is coming along. I picked up some used kitchen cabinets today. They’re a little beat up, but they can be painted and will hold all our souvenir mugs and wine glasses. For now they are in the garage. We both hate the idea of putting money into a temporary home for us, but some things have to be done. Like making sure we have a working toilet seat. My daily refrain is, “Whatever is cheapest, dear!”
I am, however, loving my new job and school. For now. All I know is that every time I drive through the streets, I feel an overwhelming sense that I am where I am supposed to be. That’s about all I can hang my soul on these days.
I get the same feeling on our new property. I finally have a place where the world is still, except for an occasional rooster crowing or cow mooing. I’m in love with the feel of the afternoon breeze bringing in the thunderstorms. From the front porch.
The rest of my life is summed up in boxes. They surround me right now. So much still needs to be done, and it’s all way too overwhelming. So overwhelming that I don’t know where to start and want to go take a nap instead. Or swat a dog.
In case you didn’t know, today is August 7. I have been waiting for this day for months now, thinking it would never get here and wishing it would take its time because the new school year was just around the corner. Eclipse was released today. My Barnes & Noble gift card has been burning a hole in my wallet waiting for the moment I crossed the threshold into the store.
Everyone who knows me well knows that although I love learning and reading, I don’t particularly care for fiction. Never have. I still read it from time to time, i.e. when I find something that resonates with me or truly revolts me. Poor Nadia has had to listen to me complain about the crap that gets published and I waste my time reading. (I owe you for that.) The exceptions for my anti-fiction rhetoric have been the Left Behind series and the Twilight series (Stephenie Meyer’s fantastic vampire series). Eclipse is the third book.
Finally holding this book in my hands was like smelling a freshly showered man after being separated from all humanity for years. I bought it this afternoon (along with another page turner: “Eight Greeks and Romans Who Changed the World”). I read two chapters sitting in my driveway cooking in my turned off vehicle.
I collapsed on the couch and continued reading until my eyes were blurry and the dogs were circling me with their legs crossed. I forced myself to come up for air and take care of some necessities around the house. I’m halfway done. For those of you counting, I read 3 pages per minute. Yes, it’s that’s good, and I read that fast.
While I’m sitting here ignoring the boxes that are waiting to be packed and the sink from the new place that I need to scrub, my darling husband has been pulling up floors, installing new air conditioning ducts (we don’t have a/c there at the moment), and stressing about how all this will come together. He’s a worker, that man. I’ve never seen anyone so dedicated to the task before him. In less than a week, he has pulled out kitchen cabinets and over 1,000 square feet of tile flooring, mowed 3 acres of the property, bought several truck loads of supplies, and annihilated several species of stinging insects. Part of me is enthralled by his dedication. Part of me feels guilty for not helping more. All of me admires him.
Life is beautiful. Making that statement right now makes me laugh because the rational part of my brain tells me that anyone with one half-packed house, one house with bathtubs that make gas station restrooms in the middle of nowhere Alabama look clean enough to eat out of, who is starting a new job on Monday but has nowhere within a three hour driving distance to sleep shouldn’t say this. Yet, this is really the cry of my soul right now.
We pulled weeds yesterday. At two o’clock. In southwest Florida. These weeds were scary beasts that stood taller than me, and for the most part they kicked my ass. I attempted to wash down some walls and gave up because the walls were no competition for my Brawny paper towels and Lysol, so I walked through the new place and got a feel for where I want the furniture to go. And fought back tears. Then I drove three hours home last night with a headache so severe that I don’t actually remember much of the drive.
As sure as I’m sitting here, I know that I am right where I am supposed to be. If you read my blog, you know that I’ve mentioned this a few times already, but it’s worth repeating. There really is no greater feeling than resting in this knowledge. I’ve slowly come to grips with the fact that life is a master work in progress, and even though I am not where I hoped to be at this point in my life, I am where I need to be.
When I was 18, I went out to sit at the beach with 1/4 tank of gas in the car and $2 in my pocket. When I got in the car to go home, I realized I didn’t know where I was, which isn’t always a good feeling when you have the resources I just mentioned. Then it dawned on me that I was in Florida and had two options: hit the ocean or run out of gas. Armed with that truth, I knew I could find my way. In some ways, the situation before me is just like that. The ins and outs are still out there waiting to appear and ease our work load, but I know they’re there. That’s comforting.
I need that comfort now. The new place is a wreck…that needs a LOT of work. Just so you know, the cabinets in the picture are now resting in a dumpster with all the floor coverings. Life is beautiful.
Right now I’m having flashbacks to the days when my parents would storm into my bedroom once a year with trash bags and threats of sending me to a homeless shelter and make me clean the train wreck that was my bedroom. I’d end up spending the entire day in there, sorting all my junk into piles of clothes, stuffed animals, books, papers to keep, and papers that if I have to throw away something can go. Inevitably, I’d reach the end of the project and sit in the middle of the floor with my one last cubic foot of “stuff” and cry. It’s not that I was sad to be finished. It was that that last little bit just confounded me like a Cubist painting. Nothing seemed to make sense enough to sort.
Yeah, my house is like that right now. That’s why I’m on the computer right now. I’ve actually cleaned off about half of the stuff that was on the coffee table this morning. (The dogs are a real help.)
The kitchen is coming along. I actually have four cabinets cleared now.
My idea was to store the boxes as I filled them in our guest room.
Having to give a dog this kind of medicine certainly doesn’t add to the fun.
I’m also trying to clean out the freezer, and that’s a story in itself. At least today’s surprise label cracked me up. I never forget to stir, but enjoying the flavors of frozen tuna casserole on my tongue might slip my mind.
I’ve been feeling a bit frustrated today. I’m sure the process of packing up a house, getting settled with a new job, and all that goes along with moving have something to do with it. I just have something I cannot get out of my head.
I spent several hours on the phone recently with someone, and what I gained from that conversation was a very real fact for me. I make the worst decisions when I base my choices on what I think someone else wants or what I think they will give or do for me through that decision. The sad part is that for a long time that’s how I made all my decisions, and I felt completely justified because it seemed so selfless at the time. In the end, though, I’d feel cheated because I compromised and ended up with nothing to show for it but a lot of heartache and embarrassment.
What I’m discovering is that I must make my choices based on what I know is true. That can sometimes mean sorting fact from fiction. That can also mean falling back on basic principles of honesty and justice and kindness. Sometimes this is scary. Sometimes this doesn’t make sense. Sometimes it feels selfish, but truth is absolute. It doesn’t change. There are moments when I wish it was open to my interpretation, but I really like knowing that I always have the truth to fall back on. I find comfort in that. As long as I center my life around truth, I have a rock-foundation to support me through the consequences.
