I have nothing poetic or insightful to share, my mind is nothing but checklists and doubts, checklists and doubts. I’m annoyed by parenting (they are ALWAYS HERE) and teaching (we tried to learn ‘whoever’ vs ‘whomever’ today, and I basically told him to just give up because English is dumb). I’m tired, trying to prepare our ancient and filthy home so we can leave it to move across the country (while they are ALWAYS HERE).
Everything is irritating me, and I haven’t even bought paint yet to touch up the places where heads and elbows cracked against walls over the past fifteen years of ownership. It’s on the list. In addition to freshening paint, I need to purge each room and add some lighting, so when we show this place to potential buyers, it looks like a wide open friendly hovel instead of the crowded gloom hole that it is. Oh! And I need to put up a photogenic Christmas tree. It’s on. The list.
“Please, come in! Can’t you just see your family living in this charming little place? Let me take your coat! I don’t have anywhere to put it, mind you, as there are no closets to speak of, so I’ll just toss it on that donation mountain. Did you see the cove ceilings!? Delightful! Just imagine your young tike opening up a new puppy on Christmas morning under a tree in this very Living Room! Just please don’t wiggle the cord to the Christmas lights- the electrical is quite questionable and it could quite easily become the Dead Room. Mmmm is that fresh cinnamon rolls baking in the oven? How lovely! But don’t peak! It’s a genuine horror show inside.” It’s on the list.
I’m in the middle of mail-ordering Christmas presents from small businesses in hopes that they can manage to keep their lights on for a few more months, but it’s not done yet- on the list. Yes, you’re all getting organic soap and potholders. No whining.
Robb’s new job has started! Weeeeeeeeeee! So now we have a plan! Income! Insurance! Security! And one out of four of us operating on a different time zone. It’s….awesome.
Writing?! WRITING!? Hahahahhahahaha. No, I’m not writing. Once we’re settled? Maybe? Once the pandemic is less pan? I keep asking myself, why wasn’t I writing abundantly this whole time? The whole last eight months? Why wasn’t I writing and purging stuff around the house then?!??!?!!? Couldn’t old me have made current me’s life easier!? Oh, yeah, I was pacing and eating and waiting anxiously for life to start. That’s right. I was biting my toenails to see if we’d still have a country when this was all said and done, if any of us would survive this virus, and if we’d have a definite move, a definite job, definite income, a definite plan. So, some combination of THOSE KIDS that are ALWAYS HERE, paralyzing depression, and no money made old me less productive than now me would have liked.
Right. Well. Onward and upward. Chocolate ice cream and going through old boxes of memories from when my kids were babies. This ought to end well.
Anyone need 10,000 Pokemon cards or three broken vacuums? Free to a home.