Today is the first day in weeks that I am experiencing some sense of normalcy. I’m sitting at my desk, coffee in hand, listening to my dog click his nails along the hardwood. My husband is snoring in bed. My child is watching some sort of show about cars. I am writing. What I am writing I am not sure. Let’s call this a check-in. A wake-up. A fresh start. I have been packing and schlepping. I have been living in hotels and eating from sacks. I have been looking for Q-tips in large boxes stuffed with brown paper and old bits of broken computer monitor that seemed, to someone, to be so precious they must wrap it in all that brown paper to ensure its security in transit. In short: Nothing is normal right now, but I’m trying.
I know moving is tough. A million people have told me and a million more have said it with such conviction that I can feel it in their hearts that they had a shitty, shitty time. And I have moved. More than once. Across state lines. Across the country. And this move wasn’t horrible. We had help. Big, strong, burly men who took smoke breaks and ate their lunches in 8 minutes flat, boxed and lifted, secured and transported, all our junk. So why am I even complaining? I don’t know. I have become accustomed to it I guess.
Life isn’t normal today. But it could be so much worse. And even though I feel like I am hanging on by a thread, I am grateful, somewhere deep inside, for what this is all affording me. Affording my child. My husband. Our futures.
So whatever you are up against today, just remember to take it one day at a time, friends. One moment at a time, if you need to.
I’m thinking of you and sending big, warm hugs.