Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Echo

The post linked below resonated with me because it pretty much echoes the feeling I have when I said I felt like I was holding my breath...

I read it earlier today and immediately found comfort in knowing that it's "normal" to feel this way.

I love that I'm not alone in this.

http://jennpineo.wordpress.com/2012/04/28/letter-from-a-military-wife/

Saturday, May 5, 2012

The Moving Walkway

I'm sitting in the airport waiting for my flight to Atlanta and I'm close enough to the moving sidewalk that I can hear a pleasant lady's recorded voice say "Caution! The moving walkway is ending" approximately every THREE SECONDS.

GET OUT OF MY HEAD! I'm not even ON the walkway! I'M BEING CAUTIOUS.

I'm a little on edge. This in-between stage is really hard and I don't know how to process it. Zach and I talked about it while he was bringing me to the airport...I was mostly worried that I might spontaneously implode after a few more of these moves. And I'm not even through this one. But my main thought has been, "is it going to feel like this every time?" And if the answer is "yes", holy cow. Time to up the meds. In fact, just get me on a regular schedule...every three years, increase my dosage. That should keep things under control. THEN by the time we're trying to do this with kids and dogs and way more crap home goods than we have now, I'll just be comatose and won't even remember the process!

Z is way more level-headed about things (no surprise there) and was kind enough to reassure me that it DOES get easier. Whether that's true or not is yet to be seen. But it did make me feel better. He also made the good point that most moves won't be like this one...we won't have 6 weeks of homeless, wandering, hotel-living nonsense. Frankly, it's not ideal.  

I wish I could better articulate what it feels like to not have a place to call home right now. I was especially eloquent when talking to Z and told him that it just "felt weird". And it does. You know that feeling you get when you come home from a long vacation? Even if it was the best vacation of your life, there's something SO WONDERFUL about walking into your own home, with your own things, and your own bed! It's like releasing a sigh of relief when you didn't even know you were holding your breath. Well, I know I'm holding my breath. I'm very aware of it, constantly. And I so badly want to go home. I really, really want that stability, comfort, and peaceful rest. 

But, I'm on the moving walkway. I'm not at my destination yet. I can't go backwards. And even if I stand still, I'm going to be pushed forward. And this, I know in my heart of hearts, is a good place for me to be. I can't shut down or ignore what's going on. I need to process it and be aware of it and figure out how to grow from it. I can't check out because these weeks on the moving walkway of transition are the last weeks I will have with my family and friends and I NEED to be present for that. I want to be. I want to soak it in and feel deeply and not rush through this time because I'm so desperate for my comfort zone that waits on the other side. And the bittersweet truth is being parroted to me every three seconds...caution...the moving walkway is ending.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Stage Two: Worst day of my life

Well it would appear that I spoke too soon when I so proudly congratulated myself for such a smooth Stage One of the moving process. Because Stage Two just about killed me.

After the movers came to clear out our house last week, Z and I were left with only the bare minimals of unaccompanied baggage: a pot and pan, cleaning supplies, air mattress, towels, clothes.

Let me begin by saying that sleeping on an air mattress for a week is...how do I put this?...the worst thing in the entire world.
Ok, I realize there are much worse things and I'm being dramatic. But in my small little life, those sleepless nights on the air mattress were AWFUL. Every time Z moved (approximately every 20 minutes), I woke up. The aches and pains I experienced made me feel WAY older than my 26 years. I reached a level of cranky that led to me taking Nyquil and Z sleeping on the floor for a few nights so that I could get some sleep and regain a level of functional humanity.

We finally reached our LAST night in the house and on that dreadful air mattress. We could not WAIT to get to our hotel and sleep in a real bed, sit in real chairs, and even watch tv. We were over the hump...or so we thought. I woke up at 4:15am sicker than I have possibly ever been. The timing could not have been worse. I could barely move and we had cleaners and a realtor coming at 10am and movers coming to get the rest of our things sometime that afternoon. We had last minute packing and organizing to finish. Z had to go into work...and I was incapacitated.

Because Z is a saint, he went to the store first thing in the morning to get my poor sick self some banana popsicles and gatorade (which I couldn't keep down anyways, but it was still a sweet gesture). He called the realtor and asked her to come later that evening. What I didn't know until later was that by cancelling on the realtor, he had to also cancel the cleaners...which meant that he had to single-handedly clean our entire townhouse when he got home from work. THE MAN IS A SAINT.

Meanwhile, I lay on the air mattress and crawled (in agonizing pain and suffering) back and forth to the bathroom. My body ached so badly that I couldn't even find relief through sleeping. And then the air mattress had to be deflated and everything removed from the room. So then it got REALLY pitiful. Picture this with me... I'm sick as a dog, laying on the floor in an empty room, with only my jacket to use as a blanket to cover my feverish body. When Z had arrived earlier, I begged him to take me to the hotel so I could take a shower and get in a real bed, but there wasn't time to make the 30 minute drive to our hotel and then get back to clean the whole house and be there when the movers came. I cried when he told me he couldn't take me and I think it just about broke his heart. I don't know that I've ever been more miserable. OH, and did I mention that our power got cut off about halfway through this "adventure"? Because it did. No power. No lights in our windowless bathroom. No charger for my quickly dying phone. Melted popsicles in our freezer. INSULT TO INJURY.

Needless to say, I wished for death multiple times that day. But you know what? I pulled through. I survived one of the WORST days of my life and I'm writing this from a real bed in a room that has electricity! AND I'm really enjoying some newly purchased banana popsicles and saltines. So life is good. Stage Two is behind us.

Moving on...