Tuesday, April 20, 2010
It is rainy and gray today which seems appropriate as everyone is sick (except me) and Mr. Vesuvius and I are sad.
I have realized that some of you are reading this blog and don't know that Mr.V and I are living with Mr.V's mother.
You read that right: This stay-at-home mother is staying at home with her mother-in-law and her brother-in-law and her sister-in-law.
So you see, we are not just anxious to get out of Fort Collins, we are anxious to get our own home.
I mean, don't get me wrong. It's totally rosy and bloom here with the old in-laws, and I'm sure they'd agree.
Who wouldn't want to live with their grown children and their two granddaughters who are both, we have actual proof, living reincarnations of Kali, goddess of destruction.
Grammy LOVES the way they get drunk off the blood of their victims and dance victory over the fields of slain neatness and gutted cereal boxes and dismembered dresser drawers and bottles of expensive shampoo and lotion poured on the ground and offered up as sweet libations to the minions of chaos and carnage.
We can't move out until Mr. Vesuvius finds another job. He's been trying since January so don't think we're just sitting around waiting for something to happen.
And then this happened. I haven't been talking much about this because we were so hopeful, and hope is tender.
Hope is tender, and you have to keep feeling it anyway.
Things were looking really good. Calls were made and interviews were arranged and everyone sounded very excited. And we were imagining ourselves loading up our car and driving out of here in two short weeks. Driving far away. If my mother knew the place, she would cry. It's a place I've mentioned before.
I don't want to say the name of the place because we're still feeling raw. But it was west of here, and south, and not as far as California. And it was a city by a big lake. And it was not Salt Lake City.
We were picturing this life and then: Suddenly Noah can't get the people to call him back and these things happen and it's nobody's fault.
The worst thing is, we still don't know. We were supposed to hear last night, and we didn't. I think the universe is having a good joke on me.
You want to dwell in possibility, you say? Here you go. Five long days of living in maybe.
I picture cactii on my back porch. Ones that bloom pink flowers.
I'm going to be ok. Eventually we will move out. I'm not suffering. I have so much I am thankful for.
I have two bright and beautiful daughters. Even though they are Kali, Kali destroyed but she also rebuilt. It was all part of the cycle, see?
I have an amazing, kind-hearted husband. Who supports me and encourages me and tells me I'm pretty and brings me treats.
I have a family who loves me even when I am being insufferably sure of my own opinions.
Most days I can get out and feel the sun and the wind and hear the birds and look at the clouds. I drink a lot of good beer and a lot of good wine. I eat good meals all the time. Once in awhile on a Sunday afternoon I get to sit in the sun and eat pizza and drink beer.
My body is strong and capable. It does what I need it to do.
At least twice a week I get to go out and write.
I think this earth is a beautiful place. I'm happy in it.
Even though the in-laws.
Posted by Vesuvius At Home at 11:35 AM
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I struggle with this every day.
For four years I've been living in a town I loathe, in a house I can't stand.
Living someone else's dream.
I'm thankful for the reminders that yes, things could be much, much worse.
I'm sorry for your frustrations, Trina.ReplyDelete
I hope you can find your way into your own dream.