Thursday, May 20, 2010


This whole moving-thing is killing me. Between having to keep the house spotlessly clean for showings, the marathon drive up and back to New York, finding a house, negotiating the price, and having a home inspection within 5 days of each other, unpacking the boxes I packed up for showings, getting more boxes from out of storage in Asheville, sorting through it all, selling extraneous furniture, preparing for a last minute yard sale, finishing up the boys school year, re-packing through everything I unpacked to re-stage the house because the buyers want to come back and show their kids their new house and pick out their rooms, planning the boys' upcoming birthday party, making copies and gathering paperwork to send to our mortgage broker, saying goodbyes to friends, and trying to keep some semblence of order around here, I am sapped of energy.

Seriously, I've got nothing left.

I have thought all the thoughts I can think at this point. I have controlled all I can control. And now I just want to crawl into a ball in a dark, quiet cave and have someone wake me back up when it's all over.

I am not an emotional person. If I feel very high or very low, it's a temporary thing. My mood is generally flat, hovering in a happy no-man's land, where things are what they are and don't require much attention on my part. I don't think I've ever felt so emotionally pulled before--feeling both the depths of dispair at the long, lonely summer ahead of me, without the cheery comraderie of my friends and neighbors--and the highest highs at the thought of finally having a sane family life, in a perfect house that won't require a single home improvement project, in my dream neighborhood,  in the kind of climate and geographical location that I've always longed for.

All this pulling is making me feeling physically ill--that sensation you get as an elevator pulls you up and down? I feel it all day in my head, then my gut, head, gut, head, gut until I just want to throw up.

I'm not writing at all right now. It would be a soothing exercise if I could wrap my head around it, but that's just not going to happen until I can get myself settled inside.

For my writer friends, I did think of a cool writing exercise we might want to toss around between ourselves, just for fun. Some guy started collecting shopping lists and published them into a book. The shopping lists tell stories in and of themselves, but as I was standing in the grocery line yesterday with my spray bottle of Pam, a german chocolate cupcake (emotional eating anyone?), and a bouquet of mums, I thought it would be cool to write out a short grocery list of random items and forward it to a writing buddy and see what short backstory they could construct out of this fictional characters "needs". What do you all think? Want to play?

1 comment:

  1. that exercise does seem fun.

    don't worry about writing for now. just deal with your move, etc. a woman in my local writing group just moved, too, (having finally found her perfect house after becoming a grandmother!) and she sat down at group and i could just tell, she was done. no writing for her that day. she is normally a very vital and thorough writer.


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