We have lots of stuff. We have our own stuff, which is stuff enough, but we have shoved it into a condo filled with stuff. My father-in-law has his own stuff, plus my mother-in-law left TONS of stuff. We have been hauling things away on a regular basis--the guy at the dump recognizes my husband and the guys at the Deseret Industries drop off yell to me "See you tomorrow!" as I drive away. But there are a few things we are trying to sell.
In a rush of purging I listed a few things on craigslist without posting pictures. We've had a few replies and some of them have requested photos. So I located our digital camera, took the photos and downloaded them onto my computer.
The few pictures left on my camera card before the craigslist photos were pictures of my old home. I marveled at the clean walls and the bare surfaces. I cried.
I miss my house that was full of my things, where every mess I cleaned up was mine.
I cried for a long time on the steps of the garage while the Orkin man was drilling for termites downstairs. I was slobbing and snotting and wailing, and he didn't hear a thing. I suppose I could have even convinced him later that my red eyes were because of the termite-toxic chemical he was applying. He didn't ask and I didn't share.
I've been unpacking my food and glasses and things in the kitchen while listening to a CD my brother made me. I'm trying to take the advice of one of the songs: Just breathe.
4 comments:
in architecture school, my mates and I had a theory: just as people who have been through horrendous, traumatic, unnerving experiences, like a hijacking, holocaust, childbirth, war zone etc. have an incredibly strong bond forever that will last insanely long, we decided that our third level of hell, otherwise known as architecture school would give my mates and I that kind of bond and we would be able to understand and support each other forever. So far, our theory has been true; so as it will be for you in your war zone. So best of luck with your third echelon of hell, and you and your comrades will be better for it… or simply less likely to accumulate junk as to never repeat this situation again… either way, still good!
You gotta love those termite guys who just ignore you and let you cry. Wouldn't that have been awful if the termite guy had come and put his arm around you and asked what was wrong? Sometimes it's just better to be annonomous and be able to cry in peace.
xoxo, and happy bday on Friday!
And now I am crying. I have been so caught up in the hubub of my daughters birthday, Primary Leadership Meetings, Scout meetings, Activity Days and basic junk that I haven't even been over this week to see how you were doing. WHAT A LOSER SISTER YOU HAVE! I appologize. I am sorry you have to go through this, Mich. I wish I could say soon there is a happy ending but I am not sure when it is coming. In the meantime, next time you are sobbing and blubbering, please call me. At least I can cry with you on the phone if I can't make it there in time!
Hang in there. You're a trooper. It will be all worth it in the end, I'm sure. And we're all glad to have you back -- that is FOR SURE.
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