Sure, moving your life 100 miles westwards and starting all over again means that your life’s a mess for a while. Nothing extraordinary about my life being somewhat of a mess right now. But even though it’s all perfectly normal, I hate it. And I’m just not that laid back about it. Although my head’s full of drawings and journal pages, I spend my days making phone calls, combatting computer viruses and hijackers, making things-to-do-lists for the move and all that’s related to it, thinking about whether I should start packing already and if so, what I’d have to start with…and in the end, hardly anything gets done. I’m just lingering, thinking, panicking and pondering. And in the end, I’m pretty angry and full of self-pity that this “damn change” had to happen to me. That’s when I’ve sunk back down to the age of about 7 or so.
It’s just that so many things need to be done and I must make sure not to forget any details. My husband is already hard at work at his new job, which offers him quite some challenges already. Then add his insane commuting hours and you can’t blame him for not thinking with me at the moment. So, all the thinking needs to be carried out by this lame and rebellious brain of mine. It’s quite a lonely time in my life and I’m struggling with that a bit. I cannot wait for it to be over. I cannot wait to live in our new house, a Sunday morning, not to have to get up out of bed for anything, to be able to turn over and tuck myself in once again for another ho