I am packing the house up. We are doing a deed-in-lieu with the bank, so they take the house, and we take to the road. We are waiting for a phone call from the property management company that will be responsible for the 90 days lease, so we will be here a few more months, but I will be going back to work at Parks and Rec. in April, if all goes well. I now have over $7000 of medical bills, thanks to my breast cancer scare, and $5000 of it is still the gall bladder surgery. But a scare is still cheaper than the real thing, so it's just sand in the shoe, not a foot amputation that I'm whining about.
I'm going through decades of stuff, hindered by my own acts of wasting time on the internet, stress eating, and general procrastination. I have some shelves done, but nowhere where I wanted to be at this time. And I still haven't arranged for the cats' shots and microchips, so that if they disappear, there's a chance they'll be identified if someone finds them somewhere else after we move.
While packing framed pictures, I found a snapshot from 1978, of me cooking in my college apartment. I am so thin, so very thin! My hair is brown and thick and long, and is tied back while I beat something in a bowl. I have my blue workshirt and my blue jeans. On the door of the pantry is a Smokey Bear bumper sticker: "Prevent range fires." The cupboard doors and drawers are all ajar instead of being neatly shut, and I am reminded of people who have pointed out what I slob I am in the kitchen.
I'm getting my mind wrapped around the idea of leaving here, and finding a new place, where the place is clean and bright, and it's just Doug and me, and the junk is gone. The cats wander in and out of my imagination--sometimes they're with Rachel, sometimes they're with someone else, sometimes with us. At the new place, I'll be closer to things in town, and I'll be better able to go to events and maybe bike to work, walk on sidewalks and maybe the place will have a gym, but whom am I kidding? I have free weights here by the computer I haven't touched in months, and a road that I've walked on for miles outside the door that I only look at now from my kitchen window.
The girl in the photo would be puzzled at what I've done to myself. I think I'll end this post with an upnote: I did my yoga this morning!
I'm going through decades of stuff, hindered by my own acts of wasting time on the internet, stress eating, and general procrastination. I have some shelves done, but nowhere where I wanted to be at this time. And I still haven't arranged for the cats' shots and microchips, so that if they disappear, there's a chance they'll be identified if someone finds them somewhere else after we move.
While packing framed pictures, I found a snapshot from 1978, of me cooking in my college apartment. I am so thin, so very thin! My hair is brown and thick and long, and is tied back while I beat something in a bowl. I have my blue workshirt and my blue jeans. On the door of the pantry is a Smokey Bear bumper sticker: "Prevent range fires." The cupboard doors and drawers are all ajar instead of being neatly shut, and I am reminded of people who have pointed out what I slob I am in the kitchen.
I'm getting my mind wrapped around the idea of leaving here, and finding a new place, where the place is clean and bright, and it's just Doug and me, and the junk is gone. The cats wander in and out of my imagination--sometimes they're with Rachel, sometimes they're with someone else, sometimes with us. At the new place, I'll be closer to things in town, and I'll be better able to go to events and maybe bike to work, walk on sidewalks and maybe the place will have a gym, but whom am I kidding? I have free weights here by the computer I haven't touched in months, and a road that I've walked on for miles outside the door that I only look at now from my kitchen window.
The girl in the photo would be puzzled at what I've done to myself. I think I'll end this post with an upnote: I did my yoga this morning!
