(cue, wide-eyed emoji)
I’ve started and stopped writing numerous posts about how it’s been living here since the move, in Texas…Grapevine to be exact. There is this incredible pride that has grown inside me, in such a short period of time. A pride in this place, we now call home. A pride in this neighborhood, called Countryside Estates. Yeah, the neighborhoods have charming names, as do the streets…almost all of them. Sometimes, it really is the little things.
RE Agent: “You’re not going to believe this”
“The board declined your buyer.”
It’s less than a week away from the date we have so patiently waited and prepared for. The movers are scheduled to come Monday. My friends even spoiled me with an amazingly touching farewell dinner. Going from such a high, this unexpected news knocks the wind out of me. I’m gasping for air! It’s going to be all right, this is happening for a reason.
You’ve got two hours of uninterrupted time.
Where should you start? Every time it seems different. You can’t seem to get it down in just the right manner. Sometimes the floors are in desperate need of a good sweep, double swiff, both dust and then mop. Other times the bathroom seems like the priority with white tiles showing every piece of dust or hair. And there is so much hair, wasn’t it supposed to stop falling out by now? Today, the kitchen seems especially filthy.
The truth is, so much of me wants to say no.
No, I cannot go through with this.
No, I am terrified.
No, I’m too scared.
No, I don’t like this place.
No, I will miss my family.
It’s one of the better mixes of emotions I think I have ever felt in my thirty-two years of existence. I love this man so deeply, that I cannot even express such things on a daily basis. I’m too scared. I’m too scared of loving him too much.
Well, in this instant I love him that much, in a tortured way.
This next part of the story has been like a dark cloud. Writing about an intense moment in one's life, is somewhat daunting. I don't feel like re-visiting it. But, if anyone has attended more than just a few therapy sessions, you realize there is a whole buttload of re-visiting. And it's not supposed to be easy. It's actually one of the hardest things to overcome. Facing ourselves. I'll re-visit that for another chapter...
He's gone, and unreachable for an entire day. This, I'm somewhat prepared for. I know he's on an interview. Therefore, how or why would he even glance at his phone? I get a text stating that he's landed. I try my best to not smother with "good luck" messages or "I love you's." Honestly, I'm still confused about the whole thing in general. I also know that my husband doesn't need luck or any words of encouragement. He's magnificent at this.
It's a sunny Wednesday afternoon. I'm sitting in my dining room, which seconds as an office. The "office" comes out of a drawer, due to the fact that our current home could be considered a "large tiny home." My son may wake any minute. My best friend and her aunt are on their way for a farewell visit, and I decide to begin writing. This has been an ongoing idea, to start this, to write my experiences. The problem was, I had too many experiences. Too many subjects. Too many thoughts.