I'm making an effort, folks. Promise. But, I'm either so exhausted that stringing a sentence together is beyond me, or I'm so flustered by a dead end type situation that, believe me, you don't want to hear what I'm thinking. My computer sits gathering dust, and I borrow The Husband's to read a little now and then. I have seen several fascinating posts that I want to come back to and chew on when my brain is once again functional. But, that's the extent of my contact with the world. Eventually, I will feel strong enough to tackle the hours and hours it will take to restore my computer. But, right now the thought makes my head hurt.
This much I have learned. This moving stuff is for youngns. (That's a whole topic on its own) I have aches in places I didn't know I had places. Everything is lost somewhere and the closer we get to making that last trip to clean up the house in Los Angeles, the more I dread the day. This nasty little feeling keeps popping up that maybe renting is not such a bad idea. That means that some day, maybe.... Obviously, in a few weeks I will wonder why I ever entertained such a ridiculous thought. Still, after a point, exhaustion plays tricks with your mind. Furthermore, while I bemoan my fatigue (insert sound of very tiny violin here), my heart is heavy for a couple of friends who are going through some genuinely tough times and deserve more attention and care than I am offering.
Now, I have a few days before our next trip back down there. Yesterday I imitated a vegetable after thinking the night before that I had begun a case of flu. It appears that the symptoms were just my body telling me to stop and take a breath. Today, I woke feeling almost human for the first time in a couple of weeks. Moving day was, of course, hellacious. The husband had been forewarned that I would cry all day the day we moved. (Knock it off, you guys. I heard those groans. Some women do that sort of thing.) It turned out I was too tired to cry and I am still waiting for that day when I can just curl up and bawl for hours over my plants, my trees, my familiar nest. Eventually, this new place will be home. Just not yet.
