A Measure of Peace / The Beginning of the End

I was up until about 12:15 last night, quietly doing this and that until I felt ready to sleep: journaling here and on paper, playing with The Faeries Oracle, buying and rating music from iTunes, playing Bejeweled, just letting myself unwind. My daughter was at a slumber party and the New Upstairs Folks are generally quiet, so the environment around me was peaceful. I didn't feel like I was needing to defend myself from repeated demands and interruptions and stress. When I finally did go to bed, I didn't do my formal meditation, but did enjoy some low-key 'tuning-in' and alignment with my beloved. My dreams were a bit weird, but not nightmarish, nor did they seem particularly significant. I woke this morning around 6am feeling rested and peaceful and more centered than I have in weeks.

Today is the beginning of the end of my time in this house. I can still remember coming here with the realtor the first time. It was the first house my Ex and I looked at. When we walked in upstairs, he was excited. When we came downstairs, and I walked into the long living room with the fireplace and built in bookshelves, I was enchanted. This was my cave. I belonged here.

That, of course, was before the flooding ruined my carpets, my not-very-successful home improvement projects left me with crooked bathroom tiles and half-painted rooms, and all the other dramas which this place -- and the Ex's penchant for adopting 'sick raccoons' -- eventually brought me. And it's those dramas that have motivated me to move. I'm a bit wistful about leaving my home of six years -- although I am looking forward to living above ground and having lots of sunlight again. I'm looking forward to having a beautiful space where I can start fresh.

A few months ago, I asked a_belletrist to do a tarot reading for me on the prerennial question of getting momentum around my spiritual direction practice. The bottom line of the reading was this: Continue to be patient. Don't push. There is still major change coming that you need to get through before you worry about that. Well, that's certainly been the case.

There have been several days since uncrowned_king's death when I've struggled with profound depression. I've never been one to build my life or my personal worth around a man, but there were days when I truly felt that with him dead, there simply wasn't anything worth living for, except my daughter, and the only feeling I could muster for her was duty. A couple of days were especially bad, and I wished that I could simply opt out of this life altogether. I never actually tipped over into suicidal; I recognized the grief for what it was, talked to friends (especially oakmouse) to get my perspective back, held on to my love for my daughter (which was always there, even when I wasn't actively feeling it), and got through.

This morning, I feel life is worth living again, and I have the courage and emotional resilience to face the challenges to come. I'm still too overwhelmed with the magnitude of the changes (and the amount of packing yet to be done today!) to be actively excited about tomorrow's move -- that would take far too much emotional energy -- but I'm quietly happy and optimistic that this new chapter of my life is going to be a good one.

The First Principle of Moving

There is always more stuff than you think there is.

*sigh

The Second Principle of Moving

It's not the big stuff that's the problem, it's all the little stuff: the odds and ends that aren't exactly FRAGILE, but can't really just be tossed into a box.

Thank goodness my mother takes pleasure in figuring out how to get all the odds and ends safely packed.

I'm just concentrating on the books. So far I've taken out a little less than one grocery bag full of books for trade for every box I've packed. Not bad.


My big, lovely dining room set -- and its eight chairs -- is really getting in the way.

*Thud

My parents arrived at 11am and just left a few minutes ago. It's 9:16pm.
My mother worked pretty much straight through.
My dad and I took 90 minutes or so to drive to the new place, get my keys, put some boxes of fragile things and my daughter's new mattress in, and return with take-out food for dinner.

I'm exhausted.
I'm alone. Which is both good and bad.
The twins are visiting, which means there is exuberant yelling going on outside upstairs.
Not what I need right now.
ETA: A trip upstairs has silenced the twins. Life is better.

What I need is a shower, followed by some quiet grounding time.
I could also use a long hug and cuddles, but those are unlikely to materialize this evening.
Instead I shall concentrate on enjoying non-material ones.

Am I all packed? Not quite. There's about 3% left -- but that 3% can be done while the movers are moving the big stuff, or after. It's not like I have to leave for another state tomorrow morning.

Oh yeah -- the movers are getting here at 8am tomorrow. Or sometime between 8-9am.
Uncivilized, I tell you.
I had hoped to get everything out in one fell swoop, but I expect there will be at least one or two clean-up shuttle trips.

The new place felt very small this afternoon. Very, very small. I am going to have to be very mindful as I place things.

Room with a View

My new bedroom overlooks the swimming pool.

Fortunately, the windows are double-paned, and when I was there today I couldn't hear any noise coming up, even though the pool was full of people having fun.

I shall have to re-learn how to have fun in a swimming pool.