I have been at a loss lately.
Not inspired to write.I am so wrapped up in change and loss and cleaning and tossing and making decisions about things that I feel like anything I have to say is dry and redundant.
I am dry and redundant, well, wet and redundant. I cry all the time. It’s such an interesting thing to me. I mean, kind of constant crying, or at least tearing up. Been a while since that happened. I am just going with it, accepting…I don’t dwell most of the time, I practice a certain detachment “oh, yes, I see, me crying, isn’t that interesting”. I try and acknowledge and let it go, a constant practice of mindfulness and meditation. This is normal, this makes sense, I am not crazy.
I have to detach to get what needs to be done actually done. The plan is to have a garage sale on the weekend of the 19th and an open house, listed on June 2. Those dates are looming and I have to do taxes and finish working and, and…I need to take care of myself. I am eating fairly well tho snacking a lot, vs meals. I am not sleeping well at all. It’s after midnight as I write this and 3 am sleeping is not unusual for me lately. I get a lot done, but do better when someone is here with me, assume it’s the accountability.
It is fucking hard work, and that is emotionally as well as physically. As I am not getting help from my son.I am grateful for the friends that come and help me,even just sitting with me is helpful. It’s really a relationship I am ending with the house I have lived in for 22 years. There was so much joy and wonder and dreams and hope here. That has been gone for a while, but I remember it, always will, and that’s what I already miss.
Sometimes I think I just cannot do it. I know I can, but sometimes I think I can’t. I start to go to the actual leaving and I have to stop it so fast, the future-tripping. I have not made plans past selling. people say iI should look around and get an idea of what’s out there for me to rent, get excited about the possibilities. I have done a little of it and it just depresses me. I will sell the house and then have to scurry to find a new place to live, and that will be ok. It will be the way it has to be. The whole thing feels like flying by the seat of my pants. By jumping and hoping the net will appear. it’s faith, not my strong suit, but it is what it is.
I’m not drinking through it all. That is the good thing. I have wanted to….my cravings come and go very quickly and i am grateful for that. But I drank over feelings at the end, and that’s what I find myself fantasizing…the feelings gone. It takes me two seconds to remember that it had stopped working, and I accept that it won’t work again. But every once in a while….
I don’t do that anymore. I don’t procrastinate as much anymore. I move faster and with more purpose. Things have to be done and I’m the guy doing them (well, and my wonderful, helpful friends).
I shake my head and wonder “what the fuck..”
This was not my plan. I have neglected to make a plan, so I am hoping and trusting that one will appear. I have no inkling of what it will look like, what it will entail. Left foot, right foot…one step at a time. No assumptions or expectations, just doing the work and moving into acceptance of the outcome.
So that’s where I am. Why I am quiet.Not assuming anyone is chomping at the bit to read what I write, but this is a journal of sorts too…and I need these posts for me.
I am reminded daily of the John Lennon quote “life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans”
(an aside…I found Time and Newsweek with the death of John Lennon as their top stories, New Yorker with 9-11, L.A Times with 9-11, Obama president, the earthquake….it’s amazing the things I kept. I also found a bunch of old journals and bad poetry I wrote as a teen. UGH! tossed the poems, finally. Kept the journals. They’ll be interesting to read someday)