I've got so much more to do over the next 24 hours to be finished moving out of this house.
And yet, here I sit. Procrastinating.
I sleep in Glenburn for the last time tonight.
Change is hard (God, that is such a gross understatement).
I've always claimed to be a person who thrives under stress. I roll with the punches like the best of em... It's not until you're given extraordinary circumstances that that theory is truly tested. Oh, I've been through much worse than this... Dad dying, divorces, unemployment and poverty... and survived them. I know, this is probably minimal compared to those, and is certainly minimal compared to some horrible circumstances that other people have to live through. I get that, I know.
But for some reason, this particular life circumstance has me quite unraveled.
I worry about Dawson.
He said to me this week, somberly- "This will be the last time I sleep in this house. Tomorrow is my last day riding bus 18..."
I try, of course, to validate his feelings, and explain how fortunate we are for so many reasons... that we've found such a nice home and neighborhood, how nice it will be with all of us together as a family again, that living at the apartment for a couple months will be "fun", like a mini-adventure, how very fortunate he is to not have to change schools all-together... I try to stay positive, to help him stay positive. I often wonder if it works; I don't know how convincing I am.
He unfortunately hears things from his father that add to his stress... "Dad says the judge's order states that you can't move out of Glenburn" (which is horseshit, by the way)... "Dad's not real happy that we are moving"... I wish his father would realize that these conversations only cause more stress for Dawson. Lately, I've felt as if I'm constantly fighting his father's negative influence. I wish he would put his personal feelings aside and try to help Dawson through this transition, regardless of how he feels about it. God knows he's had some "situations" of his own, ones that I've felt pretty strongly about too. But a parent should be mature and caring enough to leave judgement and opinion out of it, and act in the best interest of their child.
Oh, if only. In a perfect world.
I worry about the dogs. Moving is as stressful, if not more, on animals than it is on humans. It's a fact, unfortunately. And my poor dogs have to move twice, too. Herc is already so physically unstable, and Sel is a senior citizen... I worry so much that the stress will put both of them in even poorer health.
I worry about mother. She has had me next door to rely on since Dad died... to mow her lawn, to come down and get leftovers, or just for that feeling of having me next door. I know she'll be fine. But I know she is also sad.
I worry about me. Weird, I know. I worry that I will not feel "at home" when I move. The last time I moved out of Glenburn (my last brief marriage, several years ago), I was constantly homesick. It's not like I have a ton of friends out here, or that I feel connected to this community or anything, because I don't... Is it simply geographical? I don't know what it is. Back then, it was that my sister lived out here, my parents, my grandmother.. that Logan had switched schools, that the faces at softball weren't familiar anymore... I don't know.
Will I be happy? Will I be miserable? Will I thrive, or sink?
This time is different of course (in many, many ways). Dawson will still be going to school here, and will still be involved in sports here (Man, I sure will be doing a lot of driving...). So hopefully that will help. Let's face it, he only has two more years here in Glenburn anyway. And then it's another school system somewhere else (since we will still have choice of high schools). And this time, I'm moving into a house that my husband and I have chosen together, not something that one of us already has claim to. That should help, for the both of us.
And speaking of my husband, I worry about us, too. We've had such a go of it over these last couple years. It seems that every six months or so, we have some kind of upheaval,. Either something life throws at us that we just can't conquer, or something more subtle, like a slow, quiet, deadly distancing. That second one is probably the one I fear the most. I dreamt about it this morning, actually. What a horrible way to wake...
I worry too much. I probably focus too much on our failures than our successes. We have plenty of each... We also have love. I've lost my belief in the strength of love so many times, that it's difficult to remember always, that it is a powerful thing. I have to try to maintain my faith in it.
Alright, I suppose I've wasted enough time being melancholy.
I need to go finish lugging the last bits and pieces out to my portable storage unit. And then go to work.
And then come back here, for one last sleep.