project.chameleon

Respice Finem

The past twoo days have been a flurry of emotion. I've gone from elation to anger to devastation, rinse, lather and repeat, more times than I want to think about right now. If anyone looks at me, I cry. I wish this were an overstatement, but it's not. This morning, upon driving away from what is about to be the "old house", I cried. I cried when Randy said, "Yeah so the next time you gain 300 pounds and live in a closet, don't blame it on me".

Lovely. I'll try not to.

Two years ago a palm reader told me I had too many controlling influences in my life, but I would never get rid of them. A year ago a numerology report demonstrated that the next few years would be years of unfathomable change in my life. I don't normally put stock in these things, honestly. But looking at my life in the proper light, were they right? Or did I hear something and run with it, making a completely different path for myself, obliterating the one I was currently on? I guess I'll never know.

I still believe that all things happen for a reason. There will likely never be a time that I let go of that belief. The hurtful thing is not knowing what that reason is. Or not realizing it until much later.

My dreams have been wild and colourful, distant images of my real life expanded to silver screen proportions. My dreams have been a welcome retreat from my life. All manner of friends (new and old) and family fill my dreams each night, lively in action and dress, boisterous and uncannily like a circus act. I'm unsure what that means. In each dream, I watch, the lone silent figure amongst all the chaos.

I've been spending too much time avoiding the issues and not enough time living them, changing them, carrying through them. Time to force myself into action once more. I'm saddened by the fact that I've ignored my resolutions list. I think it's time for a smaller more compact version ... a "What Really Matters Is..." list, if you will. There are so many things I miss. So many things I've let slip due to the hectic everyday neurosis of my life. I miss writing most. I miss the creative outlet, the drunken feeling that washes over me as a seed of a thought takes hold and becomes so much more. I miss reading. I miss lying in bed with my children and tickling, bouncing, laughing as we read-sing-giggle until we are exhausted, heads against pillows, eyes closed, prayers said, we fall asleep. I miss bike riding and I miss kite flying. It appears I need to stop being so concerned about how to live well and just start living. Perhaps I can do that now. When the tears end, or maybe even as they still flow.

Tonight boxes and furniture will be shuffled from the old home to the new. Steven will complain that he wanted wood flooring and not carpet, and Daegan will beg to have the planets on his ceiling not later but nownownow. Wallpaper will be finished and foodstuffs will hurriedly be transferred as a larger than doorway fridge is taken apart and then reassembled so as to not spoil the salad and cottage cheese. Linens will be thrown off beds and beds will be taken apart and reconstructed in new rooms with a lingering scent of paint and cleaning product. Phone lines are in place and all the utilities await our arrival. Await our presence in the little home that I never thought would look like a home but now feels more like home than where I sit now. How does that happen?