I am depressed. It’s for a silly reason, and I know it. Maybe it’s because I’m running on little sleep and I haven’t taken in enough caffeine to make up for it (which is also responsible for the typo in my post title. Sorry!); maybe I’m projecting my feelings about leaving Hingepoint onto something that’s easier to deal with; or maybe I’m just a super-nerd and I don’t want to own up to it. Either way, I started packing up my books last night in preparation for our upcoming move to San Diego, and I got really sad.
I feel like I just shoved my best friends into boxes, dooming them to lonely darkness for the next several weeks. I keep imagining poor, lovely Zhivago snuggled between my worn copies of Quixote and Gatsby, feeling abandoned and trying to remember the good times…
Zhivago: “I remember once when Amanda was sick, and she curled up with a cup of tea and read me for hours. She used to keep me on her desk in case she felt blue and wanted to read her favorite book. Those were the days! *Sniffle, sniffle.*”
Gatsby: “Amanda used to read me once a year, and now I’m stuck in this musty box. I don’t think she loves me anymore, boo hoo hoo.”
Quixote: “Oh, Zhivago, remember that time in college when she was writing a paper, and she carried us around in her bag for two solid weeks! That’s when I got this wicked spine crease. *Sob* I miss her so much…”
Then Pride and Prejudice chimes in bitterly from a few books below: “Will you babies stop your snivelling! At least you got unpacked after the last move! Hamlet and I have been stuck in here since South Carolina. You sound so spoiled.”
Zhivago: “Be kind to us! Have you no heart? We’re grieving!”
Or maybe they’re just cozy and hibernating in there. Or maybe they are inanimate objects without thoughts or feelings. It’s anyone’s guess, really. All I know is that I feel almost as bad as if I had to pack, say, Tyler or Cambria or my mom into a box, tape them up, and label them, “Husband/Cat/Parent: DO NOT PUT INTO STORAGE!”before stacking them to the side.
Thankfully this traumatic stage of book-packing is almost over, but then I’ll have to pack up everything else, and I’ll have to retrieve my silly cat from the plethora of new hide-outs that an emptying apartment affords to a fuzzball of her stature. The most recent little hole she’s found for herself is in the box spring under our bed, which was, until last night, a storage spot.
So I may not be around much in the next week and a half. I apologize in advance for my absence, but I will try to pop in for some updates.
And I’m still going to try to read a book each week, for my own sanity. I’m feeling so many things right now: I’m excited to move and see what’s up ahead of us, but I’m sad to leave Hingepoint, sad to leave some of the dearest friends I’ve ever known. In a lot of ways I’m grieving, even in the midst of my excitement. I have weak moments of nervousness, when I let myself think too much and I’m afraid to be lonely. With Tyler at work all day and no church home and no friends nearby, what will I do with myself? I’ve never been a housewife before, and it doesn’t come naturally to me. What if I hate it? Then I have moments of frenetic energy, when I am so ready to just be there already, when I can’t wait to find out who we’ll meet and what we’ll learn. We’ve been working towards me staying at home for years now, and I know God has a purpose in these rare days when I will be at home but without children. Who knows what I’ll get to do!
Honestly, I’m starting to feel a bit bi-polar.
Books and prayer are the two best things I know to help me focus when I start to yo-yo like this. Prayer aligns me with God, centering me on Him and helping me remember what He says, what is true, in the midst of my chaotic thoughts. Books help me remember what life is really like when I am in danger of getting too wrapped up in my mind, too in danger of becoming my own version of The Underground Man. I used to throw copious amounts of chocolate in the mix with books and prayer, but then I got chubby, so I don’t do that these days.
So I will still read, and I will still blog. And I will resist the urge to gobble chocolate like Augustus Gloop. But I warn you, I may sound crazier than ever. Love me anyway? Good.
What about you? What about moving is hardest for you? What’s going on in your life that you have mixed feeling about? What do you do to help yourself cope?