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Moved too often to unpack everything
Sep. 7th, 2020 09:45 amOn our 13th wedding anniversary, the spouse woke up hours before dawn, and took a car full of stuff and our ancient cat, and moved to Connecticut for a job. That day, I moved into my parents' attic with the kiddo for 2 months, to complete a semester of post-bachelor work before joining him a couple days before x-mas. Connecticut sucked, and for various reasons we moved back the next summer. That couple of years we lost a house, couldn't find steady employment, had to abandon several career aspirations between us, restart resumes from the bottom, incur absurd amounts of medical debt, pull my dad from the brink of death a couple times, and, also, encounter enough luck and resources to fill in those holes, rebuild our infrastructure, and be a soft place for my parents to land with us when their luck turned to shit.
Tues, we close on a house. We take occupancy in a month, the day before our 23rd anniversary, one day short of ten years from the day we gave the last one to the bank. The kiddo starts freshman year of high school on Wed, half-time, socially distanced, in an evidence-based district, but still terrifying. I'm having some feels about it all. Old trauma-based panic, satisfaction, guilt, excitement, fresh panic, pleasure, dread.
There is so much uncertainty, it feels like everything is in flux except a handful of people in my life. Needless suffering, autocratic insanity, libertarian dog-cannibalism, having to hire and train a new assistant, menstrual cycle weirdness that's frankly kind of overdue age-wise but I'm still not excited about. Packing my stuff for the seventh time in a decade, hopefully for a more stable destination. At some point, training to be a poll-worker, which itself was a tough decision about what risks I could live with myself taking versus actions I could live with myself not taking.
I've taken this week off, basically to clean the mental fan before the next load of crap comes flying at the blades. Last time off was a long weekend in January. And with the pandemic, training a new assistant, worsening food insecurity, and the normal holiday rush at a nonprofit, this is really my only chance until at least next January.
So that's the update. This week will be about taking bike rides, finishing a story I've been writing for years, settling the kiddo into school again, making some bad art, packing, talking about my stupid fucking feelings like a reasonably well-adjusted adult, yoga, trying a few different weed strains, wrapping in a weighted blanket burrito-style, and organizing myself for the long haul of seasonal and/or situational depression.
Tues, we close on a house. We take occupancy in a month, the day before our 23rd anniversary, one day short of ten years from the day we gave the last one to the bank. The kiddo starts freshman year of high school on Wed, half-time, socially distanced, in an evidence-based district, but still terrifying. I'm having some feels about it all. Old trauma-based panic, satisfaction, guilt, excitement, fresh panic, pleasure, dread.
There is so much uncertainty, it feels like everything is in flux except a handful of people in my life. Needless suffering, autocratic insanity, libertarian dog-cannibalism, having to hire and train a new assistant, menstrual cycle weirdness that's frankly kind of overdue age-wise but I'm still not excited about. Packing my stuff for the seventh time in a decade, hopefully for a more stable destination. At some point, training to be a poll-worker, which itself was a tough decision about what risks I could live with myself taking versus actions I could live with myself not taking.
I've taken this week off, basically to clean the mental fan before the next load of crap comes flying at the blades. Last time off was a long weekend in January. And with the pandemic, training a new assistant, worsening food insecurity, and the normal holiday rush at a nonprofit, this is really my only chance until at least next January.
So that's the update. This week will be about taking bike rides, finishing a story I've been writing for years, settling the kiddo into school again, making some bad art, packing, talking about my stupid fucking feelings like a reasonably well-adjusted adult, yoga, trying a few different weed strains, wrapping in a weighted blanket burrito-style, and organizing myself for the long haul of seasonal and/or situational depression.
