I've been antsy for weeks now. Defensive and easily offended, my affective filter hovering somewhere between the "scream" and "cry" settings. Pissy and pissed off for no good, or at least no apparent, reason.
I thought maybe it was the therapy -- in the next to next to last session before I turned into Quitty McQuitterson and told the good Dr. I needed a break, he hinted a little too loudly that we were starting to make some progress through all the fluff issues that I kept throwing at him in an effort to hide the bitter dark soup that lurks just beyond the smiles and kittens. Despite reassurance that it's better on the other side, I'm not totally onboard with stepping off into that lake of muck and obscurity. It might well be deeper and farther than I can swim through and I'm fine right here on this splintery old dock, thankyouverymuch. I'll catch the next ferry across. Go on, you go ahead without me. Here's my cell number... give me a call when you get to the other side and tell me how it was.
I've blamed my allergies. Ah, histamine. Histamine, histamine, histamine. I appreciate your fervor, really I do. There is not a single system in my body that takes it's role more seriously than you do yours. And it's good to know that you are ready at a moments notice to fight the good fight. But could you rachet it down a notch or two? Seriously, dude, it's pollen. You're killing my already interrupted sleep, screwing with the flavor of the foods that I eat, and blurring my vision. Not to mention the oh-so-attractive peeling of the tip of my nose because of all the blowing and wiping, wiping and blowing. My kid is starting to sound like he has a stutter when in reality he's just imitating my speech patterns (w-w-w-wou-ACHOO-ld you please g-g-g-gi-ACHOO-ve me th-th-th-ACHOO-at? P-p-p-ACHOO-ass the sa-sa-sa-ACHOO-lt.). Enough already. I get it . You're sensitive.
I thought it might be the inconsistency of the weather. Or that time of the month. Or lack of sleep. The horrible threes. Bad diet and poor exercise.
It wasn't until I started seeing the same faces over and over and over (At the grocery store! At the library! At the bank! At the park! At another park! Over there behind that bush! ) that it dawned on me: Holy shit, I'm jonesing for another move. I guess it kinda makes sense when you look at our history:
- 1997-1999: Our first home together was a itty-bitty (almost) two bedroom apartment 871 miles away from family and friends. I focused my attention on figuring out which classes I had to take over since math and science and English are so vastly different state-to-state.
- 1999-2001: We bought our first house* 20 miles north-eastish of the apartment and while his workfriendslife stayed the same, I plunked my roots down 35 miles even further north-eastish while I finished school.
- 2001-2003: Our address stayed the same, but now my world alternated between
that dark, dank, windowless cell onthe UCDavis campus and the elementary school just around the corner from our house. Teacher by day, student by other days. Except for that last year when I actually collected a paycheck under the guise of "teacher".
- 2003-2005: We
got called up to the majorsmoved to San Antonio. I tried volunteering in the art** community on for size and lost my heart at least a hundred times over at a local children's shelter.
- 2005-2007: Transferred to the East Coast. Had a baby. Lived in the Big City. Started blogging.
- 2007-present: Moved West, young man. Suburbia, one town over from where we started married life. Occasional contact with old friends with new faces proves that you can't go home again. We're all different, older, wiser, tireder, quieter than we were before. And the reality of it is that my community is made up of yet another new set of faces and names.
*The white one with the green trim. It was white with country blue trim when we bought it, had a 60+ foot (vicious) liquid amber tree (that would pelt you with it's little seed pods of death and left impossible to remove driplets of resin (that weren't visible unless driving down the highway and the sun hit just right) all over the windshield of our car) just to the left of the garage. Over there where we put in a nice, new, smooth, driplet, seed pod free pad? Oh yeah, we ripped that mutha out. Also, if you squint really carefully, you can see the bench that Josh built out of the trunk of that effer over on the right side of the yard, under the neighbor's pine trees. That's Bob's house. Bob was an older, mostly retired, very bored fellow who knew freaky amounts of information about our house. We're talking information like the color that we painted the guest bathroom and the kind of tile we replaced the entry way with. Even though Bob had never been invited over to check out our home improvement projects. He also knew that we had two (indoor) cats and that one of them preferred to lie in the sun in the back window. And that I drank coffee, but Josh didn't. I don't think he ever mentioned our favorite positions or the color of my panties. In fairness, we never worried about security when we were away.
**Looks like they've still got the same