I keep having anxiety dreams. Last night, a variation on the same themes: I'm trying to pack up my belongings. I'm moving. Jerry (I think it's Jerry - when I wake up, I'm never quite sure it was him. It might have been someone from the past that I really would prefer not to have emerging from my subconscious, but I think we can take it as a given that it means Jerry) - Jerry is there. Jerry is not coming with me. For some reason, he's either staying behind or going somewhere else. I can't get all my things packed in time. My car has been towed or has otherwise turned up damaged or disappeared. My belongings end up on the street, strewn about, and I'm struggling to collect them all. Sometimes I'm moving back to an apartment in Manhattan that I haven't sold, that I've been renting out to someone all this time. Sometimes my friend Fran, who in this ridiculous real life died over a year ago now, is there, healthy and whole.
Early this morning I kept waking up out of one of those dreams, glad it was over, then falling back into it again. It's so bloody obvious, there's no reason to try to figure it out.
23 July 2012
21 July 2012
Hey there
Wow, I didn't realize it'd been this long since I last posted, although the gentle reminders from some of you should have clued me in - thanks, y'all, for caring: I truly appreciate it.
So: still here, still plugging away, still moving forward. With the occasional setback, of course, because this is, after all, my house (and garage), and we can't go too long without something new to deal with. The latest thing was the garage door: I came back from the grocery store, lowered the garage door behind me, turned to get the canvas bag of groceries out of the car and heard a loud cracking sound. Long story short, $380 later there's a new spring on the garage door and the recommendation to replace the opener with something from the modern age, which I'd do if I were staying here. (So if the house doesn't sell... maybe...) Spent a couple of hours today with the shop vac out there in the garage, and now need to go get a new filter for it before I finish the job. But, again, that word: progress.
In the Facing Reality Department, I've decided to hire someone or someones to come clean up the yard: I just have to weigh which is more important to me, keeping the amount of money I'd be paying to have it done, or looking out at the yard day after day and dreading the idea of the amount of work it would take me to deal with it myself, not to mention figuring out how to get rid of the yard waste in any kind of easy way (the local waste haulage people wanted a season's worth of fees, no matter that I told them I only wanted one haul). Someone was supposed to be here this past week to look at the place, but he or she or they couldn't make it, so now we're aiming for some time next week, I think.
Copy editing certificate coursework continues. Ooh, lots of c's there. Anyway, one course I'm currently taking is a grammar review, and, not to toot my own nerdy horn here or anything, but, hello, I was doing this stuff on the PSAT in 1979, I believe it was, and before that too. But it's required for the certificate, and it's painless, so I'm doing it.
But how am I doing? I'm... doing. I'm okay. Did I tell y'all that my latest plan is to have my parents come out here next month for a last-hurrah stay at the house plus a wake for my 40s, then put the house on the market? Yeah, I know, I was putting the house on the market in February, wasn't I? Then in April? So nothing is carved in stone, clearly. But that's the latest plan. I am, of course, racked with ambivalence about the fact that I have a (beautiful, beautiful) house I that own free and clear and would be wading into the scary-ass real estate market in New York. And that I'd be leaving my boyfriend Benny behind. (New Benny video here! Knew you'd all want to know.) And that the logistics of it all make me want to sit on the couch and fire up the TV and ignore reality.
It'll all work out. Things do, I know.
Oh, and I've somehow managed to get to the point where I look forward to eating fruit. My mother doesn't know who I am. Through that weird development, and Weight Watchers online, I've lost 10 pounds. Yee and ha! Still not fitting into a dress I want to fit back into, but a few pounds more and either I will, or I'll face the fact that stuff has shifted, ahem, and that that zipper is never going to close unless I become an ab-crunching maniac - which, yeah, unlikely. To say the least.
So: still here, still plugging away, still moving forward. With the occasional setback, of course, because this is, after all, my house (and garage), and we can't go too long without something new to deal with. The latest thing was the garage door: I came back from the grocery store, lowered the garage door behind me, turned to get the canvas bag of groceries out of the car and heard a loud cracking sound. Long story short, $380 later there's a new spring on the garage door and the recommendation to replace the opener with something from the modern age, which I'd do if I were staying here. (So if the house doesn't sell... maybe...) Spent a couple of hours today with the shop vac out there in the garage, and now need to go get a new filter for it before I finish the job. But, again, that word: progress.
In the Facing Reality Department, I've decided to hire someone or someones to come clean up the yard: I just have to weigh which is more important to me, keeping the amount of money I'd be paying to have it done, or looking out at the yard day after day and dreading the idea of the amount of work it would take me to deal with it myself, not to mention figuring out how to get rid of the yard waste in any kind of easy way (the local waste haulage people wanted a season's worth of fees, no matter that I told them I only wanted one haul). Someone was supposed to be here this past week to look at the place, but he or she or they couldn't make it, so now we're aiming for some time next week, I think.
Copy editing certificate coursework continues. Ooh, lots of c's there. Anyway, one course I'm currently taking is a grammar review, and, not to toot my own nerdy horn here or anything, but, hello, I was doing this stuff on the PSAT in 1979, I believe it was, and before that too. But it's required for the certificate, and it's painless, so I'm doing it.
But how am I doing? I'm... doing. I'm okay. Did I tell y'all that my latest plan is to have my parents come out here next month for a last-hurrah stay at the house plus a wake for my 40s, then put the house on the market? Yeah, I know, I was putting the house on the market in February, wasn't I? Then in April? So nothing is carved in stone, clearly. But that's the latest plan. I am, of course, racked with ambivalence about the fact that I have a (beautiful, beautiful) house I that own free and clear and would be wading into the scary-ass real estate market in New York. And that I'd be leaving my boyfriend Benny behind. (New Benny video here! Knew you'd all want to know.) And that the logistics of it all make me want to sit on the couch and fire up the TV and ignore reality.
It'll all work out. Things do, I know.
Oh, and I've somehow managed to get to the point where I look forward to eating fruit. My mother doesn't know who I am. Through that weird development, and Weight Watchers online, I've lost 10 pounds. Yee and ha! Still not fitting into a dress I want to fit back into, but a few pounds more and either I will, or I'll face the fact that stuff has shifted, ahem, and that that zipper is never going to close unless I become an ab-crunching maniac - which, yeah, unlikely. To say the least.
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