It has been one fucked up Great Room, boxes packed & unpacked, one faux president that left the country, embarrassed us overseas and returned, me reestablishing a writing studio (still in progress) lots of sifting through pictures, etc. (or as my wife likes to say, "we don't have time to go down memory lane." Too numerous things that I cannot find to mention them all here, and of course two fricking weeks since my last confession.
I confess that emotions and anger are high. I was not in favor of selling our home. Nor was I in favor of moving where we have moved. A contractor was brought in to do some things to the house before we sell it. One of the things I did not want and was conveyed to Tom the contractor was that the dark hardwood which comprised the bulk of the room itself was NOT to be painted. This was conveyed by my wife early on. Yet a week ago Sunday we stopped by hand there was bird-shit white primer on all the wooden walls and beams. I'm not talking about some cheap paneling. I went ballistic. It remains one of the most angry moments of my lifetime. The contractor was a friend of the family and he had done work for us before including twice painting the exterior of the home. This room is what sold me on the house when we bought it. Vaulted ceiling - floor to ceiling brick fireplace with built in bookcases of the dame dark wood, floor to ceiling on either side of the fireplace. Seeing this made me both physically sick as well as tremendously angry.
Watching the president fly off to the world beyond was surreal. It was like good, he's out of our hair. The reality is that he was still on the planet and he could still do damage, act like a complete bully/sociopath that he is and give the rest of the watching world a horrible image of Americans. I confess, he is nothing like most of us. And yes, there is the reality that he returned.
Moving is stressful. Years ago I was a Realtor and I recall a reprint from a trade journal that indicated that moving was one of the three most stressful events in life only behind death of a close family member and dissolution of a marriage. This move compound multiple elements of disfavor for my part. One is the move itself. I've never liked moving even if I was going someplace that I had a positive anticipation about. Second is the sale fo the house (which has not yet occurred) - but I had no interest in leaving this home anytime soon. I rise every day, drive to the same job I've worked for 30 years. I'm not an invalid, My mind is fully intact. I loved my home. Why would I want to sell it?
And last, I did not want to move in with another family member. I love my family but I also value autonomy. The house in not in a geographical area I wanted to live in. The house is much smaller, no basement. Between the humans and pets, it is cramped quarters. I feel like I moved into a Tiny House and I am not a Tiny House kind of guy. All this I confess increases the stress above and beyond that normally associated with moving.
Honestly, I feel somewhere between a refugee and an Expatriate who can't go back to his homeland. As long as we are confessing, I'll throw that in there too.
On a positive note, I have continued this month to submit work again. Getting back in the routine of Saturday Submissions. I confess that I know this is good and in a matter of time I will be back to getting somewhat regular new pieces of poetry published.
I confess that moving brings back memories. It is bound to. You find and reminisce over old snapshots, Watching a home empty out is like a time laps video o your life there. That alone uncorks emotions - aged and taking on flavors of the past.
I confess that I am excited that I will be work-shopping writing with some others from the Writer 2 Writer 2017 Spring Session. I'm as anxious to see everyone else's work as I am for them to see mine.
I confess that part is a little scary too.
This past week I had a scheduled Artist Date and I confess I need to be better about doing those. At least a couple times a month.
Over the weekend I enjoyed one of my wife's exquisite dishes that she learned from her grandmother, good old Polish Golumbki. I confess I could never tire of it.
It also occurred to me this weekend that June is about here and that means it is time for my annual Poetry Crush - Six Pack List. I confess I've had names swirling around and some will no doubt rise to the top and - there will be six of them. I guess you'll have to keep checking back until they are announced later in June. :-)
I feel totally confessed out. I can think of nothing more--
Until next time, stay safe! Enjoy life.
