For weeks I have been stumbling over books, getting tangled in yarn and doing the closet shuffle because I was going to be moving soon and when, and only then, I moved would I get it together enough to be organized and have things where they belong which of course would lead me to the life I feel I should lead (uber mom/librarian chick/ hooker diva among other titles). Despite all evidence that has pointed to the contrary, I continued to believe that the life I thought I was destined to lead was a mere packed box away and, by some miraculous intervention from Gayle O’Neill, life would be a orgy of labeled shelves and color coded files.
However, my move has turned into an event that I lovingly call an ‘et cetera move’ as it has taken me weeks to move *JUST* the we don’t need these NOW items and other things shall be moved in some time in the nearish future. Part of me is scared shitless (yeah, I cursed); this is the first time that I have ever lived alone having gone from mom’s house to married life house and back. I am also anxious, nervous and excited. I am ready for this new thing for my daughter and I and while I have reservations, I will not give them any strength by obsessing (much) over them (Thanks Debbie!).