It’s been quite a day. I’m up pretty late tonight for no great reason, and am still tapping out this post — on my phone, no less.
What struck me at such an hour that I needed to write about it right away; that I couldn’t wait until my computer restarted, much less until morning?
We spent the evening getting the house ready for the painter. Much furniture needed to be moved. Things on shelves and in cabinets needed to be boxed. More things rearranged to accomodate our living with the work being done.
But it’s not going back. The things on the furniture. The encyclopedia, the DVDs, the knick-knacks acquired and arranged in places of prominence over years living here are not returning to those places. They are all in plain brown cardboard moving boxes, and will remain so until they have a new home in which they will be arranged.
How brutal it was, ripping apart the coming last of my past 22 years in this place. And even the kids, who are no older than five, were amazed at the blankness left with the things removed.
I’m not sad. Yet. I’m beat. It’s been a long day, not just with moved fish tanks and packing video games, but at work and with my personal interests, too. Making decisions for other people is taxing when you’re weighed down by the potential consequences. I’ve had the vague impression that Berta’s been mad at me all day, though I can’t think of why that would be. It’s tough to worry about all of these things and feel the disquiet of an unfamiliar home.
Boy, this place is empty, and there’s still stuff in it.
