Today was supposed to be moving day. That sale fell through. This sale is supposed to close on October 30th, which is 18 (EIGHTEEN) days from today. That’s cutting it close.
The seven days of October 5 – 12, 2018 has taken about a month to elapse. It’s the Einstein theory of relativity coupled with inescapable waiting.
Even though I’ve kept myself occupied, Blanche has been working overtime the last 2 days. Every 30 seconds or so she whispers (or screams) in my head, “Tell me! Are we moving or Not?” “What the hell is taking so long?!?” “Call me NOW realtor man!” “Answers. We need answers!!” Then, it echoes off my skull causing a din that overcomes my calm. So annoying. Probably more annoying for the people around me because some of those questions then tumble out of my mouth smack dab in the middle of other conversations or inappropriate moments. I am pacing. My feet tap the floor. I’ve chewed up my fingers. If my hair were long enough to get hold of, I’d be bald somewhere on my head. Other personally odd symptoms of anxiety: dry eyes, yarn store runs every other day this week, snapping at my Mom on the phone yesterday, wearing a wool stocking hat in the house, insomnia followed by sleeping late, eating a gluten-y powdered sugar donut, which then caused me gut issues and twitchiness.
It’s Nicole’s Dad. I just know it. He has put up some kind of resistance. Fucker. I already dislike him, even though I’ve never met him. He probably wants us to remove the roof entirely, and start over from scratch. Why, oh why is this taking so damn long??!!! I CANNOT STAND IT. Meantime, this inner dialog is interlaced with plans for the new house. “Oh look! There are compact dishwashers which can effectively be used with a septic system for $400”. “Definitely going to paint the front door” ”
Yes, I know it’s not life-or-death. To be fair to myself, I have remained calm throughout the last 65 days. I’ve been of good humor. My head and heart were absolutely sure that we are moving for good reason to Kenyon. Hear what I said? “We ARE moving…” I have been so sure. Until Wednesday of this week. Now, each tick of the wall clock reminds me that WE JUST DON’T EVEN KNOW. It’s no longer in our hands. All our work and prep and debt incurred might not yield…..
My hands are so shaky, I can’t even paint my nails. On the upside, the sun is finally out after three weeks. Huzzah! Also, I have used some of this idle waiting period to read. A lot. Plus Audible. How I love it. The good fortune of hearing the book “Big Magic” by Elizabeth Gilbert on this particular week, with that particular message about creativity and perseverance has somewhat dulled my nervous tension. I know from times past that I could be much, MUCH more agitated than I currently am. There remains a nugget of peace somewhere within me; a wee small voice barely perceptible saying to me, “It’s all going to work out. Don’t worry. It doesn’t help or change a thing”. I will try very hard to focus my attention on that voice, despite Blanche’s continuous barrage of negative bullshit.
And then, my Mom called again. Second time today, and counting. Yes, I can be insensitive. This is one of those times. Is it fair? Probably not. I’ll apologize to her later.