….is a very, very, very nice house (sing it with me!).
I love my house. It IS really great. A 1950’s sprawling ranch with an open floor plan, a pool, a big yard.
Everything you could possibly want for raising a family, having a party, just living the good life.
I moved in here in November of 1991, so I have lived here 21 years. We called it “the house that Balki built”.
As much as I love it,I have been exasperated with it lately; there is much work to be done. It has fallen into some disrepair, mainly because of a general laziness on my part, but it needs work I can’t do and finances…you know. Times are tough. It’s a tough market, and, no matter…I am going to try and sell my house.
It is time.
There is a general rule of thumb when someone dies, that you do not make any big changes for a year. That seemed like awfully good advice at the time, as I wasn’t able to sleep or eat, and decisions were pretty much off the table. I did have to make some, and those guided by my dear friends were ok, but my own decisions, well, not so much.
Anyway. We made a 5 year plan, but the economy didn’t adhere to it so I have kept the house despite/because of the market. But, no more. I has to go.
it has to go because I can’t financially keep up with it.
Bt even more that that it has to go because I cannot emotionally keep up with it.
I don’t know what is happening lately, but I enter the house with dread. I just finished decorating for Xmas and it looks pretty and festive and who cares, because I don’t invite anyone over to see it. I actually am having house guests (and I cannot even express what a bad ,quick idea that was I am now stuck with!) in December, so it will look nice for them.
But I really don’t care.
I remember when we first bought the house,before moving in. We would drive out here and park across the street and just, DREAM. Of our life, of our family, and we were so, so happy and excited. I remember driving up to the house on just about any given day and being glad to go inside, to my refuge, my family, my life.
I just need a change so badly, a break, something new. I was filled with fervor to move far away after my road trip, and while that still sounds good I just think I need out of this house. The memories and the atmosphere is stifling, it’s killing me. And I can’t really see past it while I am here. I can’t think, I can’t dream, it weighs me down. I need to be in a new space in order to plan my next step.
It feels like I cannot emotionally keep up with living in Los Angeles anymore either.
It really is, its killing me. I have no ambition, no drive, I just wallow here, wallow in the past and what is not, and can’t possibly see what could be. Every single street I drive down, every place I go, is a memory. And while memories are good, now, I don’t know, they seem to be like a huge fucking weight on me. I have this urge to just throw everything away, every thing I own….I want to start fresh, with nothing that has to do with my life before. Is that crazy? I want to erase my life, grab a number two pencil with a pretty pink eraser and wipe it clean.
I don’t think that will help so much, but I want to try. Because at this point I don’t know WHAT will help. I am at a loss. I have shredded and thrown out bags of stuff, and still there’s more. And all the stuff tells a story, and I’m never sure if I need to hear that story again, what if I get rid of it and then do? What then? So I have this enormous push-pull about selling and moving…how can I BEAR it, and how can I not!
I just keep feeling like I’m dying. I care less each day about everything and anything.I start to feel the slightest bit overwhelmed and I just stop, flat out. Sometimes I go back to what I was doing, sometimes i don’t, or at least wait for days. Things don’t get done, important things, and I don’t care at all.
This is no way for me to live, but I am stymied right now as to what IS the way for me to live. If you saw my house, particularly now, dressed for the holidays, you would think it insane that I scour the Cb2 catalog and yearn for the slick, modern, loft-like look I see in those pages. I’m not sure that is exactly my style but I think it speaks to the getting rid of things, the sleekness, the shedding…the simplicity of the look. I just don’t want useless stuff, I want my life smaller, not in the isolationist way I used to like it, but in a more contained and manageable way . A simpler way. A friend of mine felt this urge, started divesting and now her open space is being taken by a chid in need. I don’t know if that will happen, I want to get rid of a child in need, but the idea of opening to the possibilities is rich and exciting.
I want my memories smaller too. Not that I want to forget things, but I don’t want to be constantly bombarded by them. Jesus, no wonder I drank! It’s relentless, really.
i just have to do it. And the fear is the letting go of my HOME. Not my house, my home. And, frankly, that is L.A. too, I have never lived anywhere else. Sometimes I think of it and I just cannot bear it, I think I am completely insane, but I know I have to be strong and true to who I am now, my life NOW, and let go of the past that will never be again. I cannot open myself to the new if I am holding on to the old for dear life.
There is a story by Brian Andreas that I love and have a print of. It hangs right above my calendar in the kitchen, and I see it every day. It says: “This is a giant block of whatever is most difficult for you to carry & trust me on this, you’ll carry it more times than you can count until you decide that’s exactly what you want to do most & then it won’t weigh a thing anymore”.
I have carried this weight for a very long time. I am tired. It’s time.