I don’t know what it is. Is it fear of change? Of having to pack?
It’s just that yesterday when I came home from, well, my other home, I sat down on the couch and just realized that I am very comfortable here in the rental place. Yeah, it took me the better part of six months, but now that I’ve gotten comfortable and have to uproot myself again.
Anyway.
The fixing up begins. I’ve started painting the bedroom, will do the living room this weekend; this morning the exterminator sprayed for ants inside and out, and I signed a work authorization for termite fumigation and some other repairs. Still to be done — wiring for cable and internet, measuring for appliances, buying some area rugs.
Of course, at some point I’ve got to pack, right?
I’m burned out from the whole thing, which has gone very fast and yet isn’t done yet. I feel like I should be accomplishing much more every day than I actually am, but perhaps I’m thinking too much.
But yesterday when I went over there, the cats from across the street practically ran over to say hello; today I met another neighbor and watched dogs across the street rolling around on the grass playing, and decided that it will be okay.
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