This journey is getting boring and worse. Waiting. Complications. Money out. Negotiations. Fear. Conspiracy theories. Taking offense. Blah blah blah.
Where the hell is the peaceful zenlike oasis? Is there light at the end of this tunnel?
“Someone please tell me it’s not a train”
(Does anyone remember that Cracker song?)
Whatever. It’s stupid really anyway. I’m realizing that I’m one of those people who thinks obtaining something will make them happy. That elusive “If XYZ would just happpen, then I would feel QRSTUVW.” I don’t get my hair done, or my nails. I drive a 1999 Honda, I happily wear second hand clothes, but I find that I have a need for this thing that will somehow save me. This bullshit blog is a fantasy about some thing that may never happen. This thing that may never happen also holds the responsibility to make or break my happy? My children’s experiences, my husband’s trade, my dirt. My digging around in worms and weeds and creation is supposed to fix everything. Mend my brokenness. Well, it won’t. I’ll get there and with me will be my baggage. My guilt. My sorrow. My anger. And no matter how deeply I can wriggle my skin into the fallow earth, I will still be tied to this living flesh.
This real estate transaction will not bring any of us what we are seeking. Not really. So if it falls through, let it. It will be a disappointment, but that’s ok. There will be another thing on which we will place too much importance soon enough.