Strange times around here lately, as you know.
As things go when you have an impending move, time seems to speed up as it passes and all of a sudden it’s as if there are literally a million things that have to be done in what seems like an extremely short amount of time. We have movers coming to pack our belongings so that’s a relief, but moving to another state is a huge endeavor even without that element, made more difficult (and exponentially complicated) with each extra year of being planted in the same place. It seems like I remember six new things every day that need to be closed out in preparation of leaving.
These days especially, my loose ends have loose ends, and it feels odd to be exploring this at all because on any given day my loose ends have loose ends. This, however, is intense. I’m taking care of medical appointments (doctor, dentist, mammogram), taking my car in for regular maintenance (since, conveniently, my oil needs to be changed like NOW), finishing up my final workouts at The Dailey Method, and working in a couple of get-togethers with friends on top of getting ready to move Dylan out (before our movers come) and packing up what I’ll need for the month our stuff will be in storage, LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER CHICAGO auditions (this weekend), some freelance writing, oh, and WORK.
To add insult to injury, I’m on the tail end (I hope!) of a horrible cold that has left me raspy and hoarse for nearly two weeks now. I know that getting more rest would likely speed up my recovery but, well, I have to keep moving because I’m moving.
Also? Emotions. The final stage of preparing to move has left me feeling like I am perpetually hormonal. I already detailed the internal struggles I’m having in my last post, but this week as I’m preparing to move my house buddy (Dylan) out, I’m sad. We’ve developed our little routines in the last six months of being just the two of us in this house, and I’m going to miss that. That said, I will always treasure this extra time I had alone with him; it’s been a joy. As I mentioned in my last post, leaving my (grown) kids feels weird and I’m not sure how to process that yet.
Moving around in my house I keep hitting mental snags. I repeatedly go into the living room to sit on the couch when I’m on the phone with Liz or feeling like I need to work somewhere besides in the family room, and it’s only when I get there that I am reminded we got rid of that couch and chair last week and there’s no place to sit. A cement patch on the back patio has the boys’ names written in it, along with their handprints. Obviously that has to stay here, a relic of “the former homeowners”. I look at the area rug in the living room and remember, when I see the little stains on it from when Roxie crunched on a whole bag of candy canes there, that this Sunday marks a year since her death and it seems to have crawled and sped by at the same time. It would have been a terribly hard year for her, with all the travel I’ve had to do, but man do I miss her. The timing of this move feels a little more cruel this week, with that milestone looming.
All of this will pass, of course. Change and moving and death and emotions are all a part of life. Right now when it seems like I have a thousand balls in the air and I just keep moving without any down time, I remind myself that I’m handling it, not always gracefully but I’m handling it. Eventually this will all be a memory, and when I’ve got both feet permanently in just one state again I will feel proud to have done the best I could at any given moment, even when my best felt substandard, through it all.