Limbo

So strange how limbo is. Of course the house is not yet ours. But in my private thoughts, it’s mine and it’s wonderful. Today, however, walking around with the realtor-cousin, it felt so much theirs.

She made sure to tell the boys not to go downstairs on their own and to not touch anything in the workshop. She followed us to the pond. She told me not to talk to the renter until both deals had gone through because he will leave if he has to pay more than $800/month.  And we should therefore be ready to back off the idea of raising his rent. Then she told us not to go into the woods without wearing long pants.

Tagging things was unnecessary and pretty much impossible. There was an old record player that I liked, but realtor-cousin said it was probably sentimental and they’d likely take it (or she would). The tools, in my humble opinion, were just a hodgepodge of metal, plastic, and wooden jibberish that could probably just be moved into a dumpster. We ended up tagging a single desk and agreeing that the owners could just leave what they didn’t feel like moving and we would take care of it. We also said that if they forgot anything they did want, that we would save it for them.

Now my dream feels laden with ghosts and responsibility. It isn’t really though. I know that. I will wriggle into this life like a earthworm claiming its damp comfort. It will just take a bit of time.

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Author: Morgan Mill

Thanks for reading!

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