It’s strange around here. I keep catching myself in little moments holding my breath- pausing and waiting for something- noticing the absence of tension- and wanting to call it something else… and then feeling off-kilter because of the quiet… normalcy. I’m not so dramatic as to think I’ve got post traumatic stress syndrome. Yet, when someone lives in a pressure-cooker for almost three years, and suddenly the steam-release valve is thrown, it may take some time to trust the new normal.
So much for my gift for words, eh? It’s hardly eloquent to think of myself bumbling around the house, trying to figure out What Next… but that’s exactly what I’m doing. Slowly I’ve managed to find most of the stuff I need (with a few notable exceptions like my watercolors and the kids’ books) and have made a big dent in the garage full of boxes.
I have a list as long as my arm of things that need my attention. Maybe they’ve been there for a long time- I don’t know. It’s hard to notice the match under your foot when your whole life is on fire. And then there’s more sorting. Every time I try and tackle something on my list, I realize I haven’t unpacked the box I need for that particular task yet… and then I’m off on a wild goose chase again. Maybe I just need to stop and finish getting the house set up before I plunge forward.
What a blessing to have plain, old, normal problems again. Hello, life. Nice to see you again- it’s been a while. Yes, we look a little different, but oh how I’ve missed you.