find me

Guess what. I'm here. Somewhere in a pile of boxes and bubble wrap, in a make-believe apartment, living a make-believe life.

It is a wild bounce between moments of "I'm HERE and here we go" and "Is this really happening and is it just a dream gone bad?"

The odd thing is, I think I like it here. And I'm excited by this bit of creativity I feel stirring. And I feel motivated to create. And I KNOW that I am done with Florida.

But how can I be here if things are not finished in Florida? It's like being caught between two lives. or three lives. Or more.

There's a short financial time to figure these things out.

And part of me is angry, very angry. I had some idea that I would be financially taken care of, the there would be a safety net, and you know what, it's the same-old-same-old. ME and my daughter, and what? Where is my partner with the 100K job, holding space for me? NEver mind that, the 50K job? Where is the dime that I don't have to puke over?

Why am I here again?

turbulent transitions

Well. The roofers came back to finish the hot mop. MMMMMM hot tar wafting through my house, while they toss 50# membrane rolls on the roof with a vengeance.

I'm sitting with the realtor. Doing the deal. We hear a major thump, bigger than a 50# roll. We keep dealing. An hour later, we go outside to find the crew shutting down. ??

The big thump was a guy falling off my roof. The ambulance came and went, and I wasn't aware of any of it.

The big guy was there in his truck, looking puking green nauseous. They pulled the hot mop crew from the house down the street to finish mine.

This phase of the roof is done.

The sales contract is signed.

My house is on the market.

As in, I'm moving.

How can it be that this is really happening?

don't even ask

...where the past month has gone. suffice it to say, we have an apartment in Bozeman. My husband lives out there now, and has started his new job. My Florida roof is torn off and half tarred-on. The attorney is filing the papers for that claim. The realtor comes tomorrow with the contract.

There are very odd dynamics afoot, related to disengaging from things Florida. Funny thing. The most enthusiastic, genuine support comes from the most surprising colleagues... while others struggle and project. Know what, this is difficult for me, too, folks. I'm just not gonna be the endless font of support for YOU right now, we need to dance this out together.

Was a tough day today - roofers late, had to cancel patients, roofers not done, coming back tomorrow, more cancellations.... and the stench is just stupefying. All equals major meltdown, at least I got that out. Then my husband called and said, when can you come out, I'll buy you a ticket... 6 weeks apart is too long. I know he wants to settle into our new space out there together. So voila, I found a ticket for next weekend. Which he paid for without even asking how much.

And in the middle of all this - school. School? Radiology class? How can I keep my 4.0 without really showing up for this one? It's more info than I can process at the time - but here it is. Must be done.

Even in the meltdown, even in the overwhelm, I feel a stronger sense of midline, a deep keel, as if some huge ocean liner were carrying me, plowing through huge waves. And yet we stay on track, on target for the goal. There are such big things to do, and somehow, somewhere, this business of transition will sort itself out.

I have to believe so.

Like It Could Just Happen

Given how fast the job offer appeared.... and after the chat with a realtor this morning... sure feels like the ground evaporating beneath my feet. This afternoon I hear the chant "July, July, July" Well, but, I can't go in July. Does the house sell in July? Where do we go in August? What do I do with Ally, who is already freaking out about all this: "So mom, when you leave this fall I'll just live in my car!"

Slippery, slippery ground, sliding out from under me.

Easter Resurrection

And lo, my husband has risen from the tortuous depths of the satanic vortex that was BBFB, store 668. And hath returned to his desire for eternal life - in Bozeman Montana.

Yes. Offered a job in Bozeman. Relieved of job in Florida. Now immersed in painting bathrooms (good thing I've watched so many "design.to.sell" shows), cleaning out the past that's buried in our garage, and packing up for his first drive out there.

And terrifying me with words like "realtor." And propelling me into instant meltdown by packing up the christmas tree holder - because when we open it - it will be - Christmas in - Bozeman. Not Florida.

Equally terrifying is this new experience of throwing the past away. Journals from first marriage dying? buh-bye. Journals from second marriage starting? ciao! Journals from long purple journeys of when I channeled for a living? OUT!!!! I have never felt such clarity, distinction of the end, such finality. I'm done. Don't need my college yearbooks (but amusingly, kept my HS yearbook?) And after 30 years, I threw out my college science books, organic chemistry, a/p, neurology.... kept one notebook. just one.

And there's a confusing bit in there, because some of that stuff in the garage is from my dad's house, it's pieces of my dad. As if I needed more fuel on my meltdown fire.

So we're surfing the big tsunami now, good thing I"ve been practicing my instability-riding moves.

And tomorrow, I disappear for a week to the new confusion at Molly's - what the heck is that all about? When I'm suddenly in the big countdown of "how many days til my husband moves out"? How many mornings left where we will wake up all nestled together, in our Florida dreambed?