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Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Afraid to hope.

For someone who operates on 90% emotion and 10% control, I try very hard to appear calm, cool and collected. Or, at the very least, I try to control which emotion is visible. The emotion that is easiest to let loose is anger, because being an angry person who scares the hell out of people is preferable to being that chick who cries over everything. The sad truth is, I do cry over a lot of things. I just try to do it where only a select few...ok, a select two...see me do it.

In the past few months, life has held many twists and stabs. I've fought very hard to keep it all under control so no one sees that, emotionally, I am like a ball of rubber bands, tightly wound. Occasionally, a band snaps, but the majority of the ball is still holding together, albeit tightly. My fear is that soon, numerous bands will snap at once.

Have you ever seen the inside of a golf ball? This is what I fear is eventually going to happen to all of the emotions I fight so hard to keep in.

I want peace for us. I want a place to call home, not an apartment with loud neighbors and apathetic management. I want a place for my dog to roam off leash. I want to be able to paint a wall black if the mood hits me. To that end, we put an offer on a house a few days ago and found out today that the seller has accepted our offer. In two months, we will have a home. Will it be the home I'm seeking? It is half the size of the last house I lived in, and I am not good at paring down. In fact, nothing makes me want to cut a bitch quicker than being told, "Just get rid of stuff." I am not a hoarder, but I have 24 years worth of memories in the shape of toys, pictures, books, gifts from my children...all of which are not just "stuff" to be discarded. Every rock, seashell, fairy, drawing and letter is precious to me. The trick is going to be ignoring those who feel they have the right to tell me what to do and finding a place for my treasures.

So, will this house be the home I am looking for? I don't know. All I know is that I want it to be, for a while at least. This will be our 4th move in less than 3 years. Just the thought of movers, unpacking, and cleaning another apartment makes me tired to my bones. But the thought of coming home to a house that is mine, with a yard that I can garden in...ok, let's be honest...a yard that I can drink wine in and look at, is what is driving me.

But underlying that is still the nagging thought that California is not where we are meant to be. Mike is embarking on some interesting changes professionally. I may finally be achieving some professional satisfaction soon too. Maybe the coming months will reveal a love for this place that, thus far, I have been unable to find. Someone told us recently that we don't live in San Diego; we just work here. That could be true. We've been here almost two years and have spent that time living in apartments, going to jobs, shopping in the community, but never actually becoming part of  the place. Maybe living in a neighborhood and not just a building is the part that has been missing.

I want so much for all three of us, yet I feel like we're all chasing after that carrot that is eternally just out of reach. I am just hoping that reaching this point of emotional stretch, with the bands feeling as though they are about to snap, is as far as it will go and that the pendulum will finally start to swing the other way and some relaxation - both physical and mental - is finally coming our way.