I think she likes hanging out with the wine.
Well, it’s been a while since you’ve heard from me. Are you okay? I’m really sorry. I once promised I would never do this to you again. But I did. Now when I repeat this promise you won’t believe me. But I swear—I am nothing like that lying college boyfriend. I wasn’t flirting with those girls. I swear. See, you don’t believe anything I say anymore.
It suddenly occurred to me one day a couple weeks ago that I had completely forgotten to blog for like 3 weeks. I’m serious. I totally forgot to blog. How does one forget something like that? Then I continued not to blog for a few more weeks. But that was more like blatant not doing it. In my defense, this house-selling business is awful.
Did you know I have to put my toaster away every time someone wants to view this place? Also my dish drainer. If I don’t, the prospective buyers will not be able to imagine living here in a house where people actually toast things and wash their dishes. They don’t want to know we eat. Maybe it will make them buy this place if they think no one here ever eats.
Doesn’t this make perfect sense?
(It might have something to do with de-cluttering, but I can't remember anymore. It's probably about toast. I’m so tired.)
Additionally, this house-selling business is horribly time-consuming. And also stressful and distracting and rendering me incapable of thinking smartness. Or smartly. Or something.
I had a fleeting notion of writing a post about focus, but... Wait. What was I talking about?
Seriously. My brain is not able to hold coherent thought for any significant amount of time. Like around 2 minutes seems to be the max. Probably 2 minutes is a generous estimate.
This is what I am doing instead of thinking.
overly elaborate cross-stitching
No, I’m not 80. I just enjoy the simple motion—all those nice little x’s. They relax me.
One of the worst parts of this house-selling business is the utter lack of planning that I can do. I am NOTHING without my plans. I am actually pretty crazy without my plans. Steve (not his real name) might use some other words to describe what I am without my plans... I have no idea when we’re going to move, when I can begin packing, when I can start really planning our new life. I cannot control how things will fall out.
THIS DOES NOT WORK FOR ME, PEOPLE.
(Sorry... I’m not yelling at you. I swear. You don’t believe me, do you?)
I have also been on deadline to complete The Mosquito Hours edits, a task that requires a great deal focus. (My brain hurts.) In spite of my throbbing brain, I did get those edits done. I have one more little scene to write and I send it off to my publisher. Then I go on vacation for 2 weeks to the beach. I have a ton of organizing and packing to do for that, which is good—I am channeling all that (crazy) energy that needs to plan.
Life isn’t about waiting for the storms to pass. It’s about learning to dance in the rain. Vivian Greene
I saw that quote recently and even though it’s a little cheesy, I couldn’t deny the value in its sentiment. I have been trying to relax and remember I actually possess very little control—that idea is just a nice little notion we want to believe is true. But it really ain’t. And I can't forget to enjoy the journey—kick around in those puddles.
So, yes, I’ll keep hiding my toaster. And I’ll even try to smile while I do it knowing in the end this will all work out just fine. It’s only a move, after all. You hang in there and keep hiding your toaster, too.
And I’ll never not blog again—I really mean it.