Embracing the Chaos

The past month has been rough.

The financial stresses of COVID-related work changes – a necessary break from one contract and a sudden inexplicable (but welcome) demand from another – have compounded with the emotional complications of visiting family and the grief/relief of saying goodbye to our last-living (now deceased) and probably last-ever pet.

Since July 20th, I have:

• given myself time off from a contract that was killing me, only to go to work full-boar on my house after
• the Bad Kitty was put to sleep, because
• pet damage — and it was BAD at the end; COVID restrictions kept my cat from getting the veterinary care he needed — meant there was nothing I could do but
• rip out 400 sq ft of carpeting (that’s a workout, letmetellya!) before
• boarding a plane (yes, I flew) (domestically) to
• visit my family, during which time I
• spent some time puking my guts out, but
• hung out with my nieces (and my aunt, and my sister and my mom) for about a week, and upon return from said domestic-travel adventure
• pulled 400 pounds worth of furniture out of various rooms in my house and
• emptied closets, in preparation for
• installing new carpeting,
• refinishing hardwood floors,
• and other assorted remodeling tasks that I am attempting to finish within the next year because
• I AM READY TO MOVE AWAY

Oh, and I started working right away as soon as I returned from my family visit as well, which means I’ve been doing all of this chaos-inducing crap in between appointments and during my tiredest/crankiest hours.

: exhale :

But I’m good.

As Frozone would say: I’m good.

I’m good with chaos.

As long as I’m in control of the chaos.

Being around my family of origin recently has reminded me that there are things that feel completely out of control…

…and things that actually *are* completely out of control.

The former I can handle.

The latter I want no part of.

Which is why I moved away from my family — as far away as I could possibly get without leaving the country — all those years ago. (“Remember the Jack-a-lope?” I asked my sister during my recent visit, referring to our shared road trip out west to get me moved. She laughed. There are stories that are never told because they can only be understood by the people who lived them.) The tensions and anger and built-up resentment and unreasonable expectations and and and —

Ugh.

Family.

It was too much.

That kind of chaos… It’s simmered down some, but it’s still there, bubbling under the surface of every interaction.

Has it improved? Yes, a bit.

Will it ever be ‘right’? Nope.

But I can accept that.

And I can move a little closer to them again.

Not close, close.

Just… One thousand miles away instead of three thousand.

And with all the chaos going on in my (unsafe) (riotous) (burning) state of residence, I’m ready to move.

Far far away from here.

Not quite so far away from there.

And in order to do so, I have to remodel my house so I can sell it and re-define home.

(Possibly with a move-across-the-country road trip.)

(Which may or may not include a ride on a Jack-a-lope.)

It will come together.

I know from experience that it gets worse before it gets better. That there is no smooth sailing without traversing rough seas.

It will work out.

It will take time, but it will work out.

I will put my house in order. (Probably about a week before I sell it!)

Meanwhile…

I’m remembering the messes of Major Moves Past.

I’m open to the unknown of my future home{s}.

And I’m embracing the chaos.

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