It is 11:06 p.m.
I am packing up my desk in my beautiful office.
My stomach is howling at me with acid tears.
After getting this room in shape for the open house, it was a dreamy place for me to spend time. I have no idea when, where or if I will ever have a space like this for myself again. Rosina Red Designs came to life in this room. I don't know where that little gig is headed but if it does go somewhere, this is where it all began.
How is it that I cursed this house for 2.5 years and I'm falling apart when it's time to go?
I am so detached from the reality of our situation that it's become almost frightening.
I walk around in a stupor and think, really? seriously? selling means we actually have to move?
Because it seems more like I wanted the monetary relief but none of the actual moving, say goodbye to your nice neighbor Ron, your little crape myrtle that actually survived a year under my thumb and lived to tell the tale with beautiful white blossoms, your bathroom that you re-did your way -- all of that is over? My $900 Container Store closet system? No more?
My Bosch washer and dryer? My LG french door fridge? Don't even go there. I have an intimate relationship with those items. I can't even stand it. This is not happening.
I have moved many, many times in my 36 years on this earth. I have never moved like this, with no clue where I'm going to end up. I try to convince myself this is a big adventure. But it's really not. It is a sad fact that I can't get where I want to be: living a little family life in a little family house with our annoying big dog.
I'll end this cryfest with two pictures of my Boozhee taken this week in his room. His beautiful blue, superfly room with the tree mural. I can see the pout emerging but maybe that's because I know him so well.
In any case, his face perfectly captures how I feel these days, even if he was only making it because I wanted to take his picture and he was in the middle of his rocket story.
It is 11:24 p.m.
Hey Felix: over and out.
It is 11:06 p.m.