I have just enough bed space right now to accommodate the width of my hips. The dog has the rest. And I’m so damn happy to have him here, I don’t have it in me to move him. Besides, I know my dog; he’ll move himself once he decides that the noise I’m making or my movements are bugging him enough to seek his own space elsewhere. It’s good to be home.
I had people in the house again tonight. My toilet now flushes. My dishwasher still doesn’t work and the ceiling fan in the kitchen is gone again, leaving a wire-filled hole. It will all get sorted in time.
I am both anxious for and afraid of the space I know is coming once my mom leaves. Generally, I’m not very good at staying present. I seem to like to worry too much for that. I worry about things that may never happen. I worry about the possibility of things happening, especially those things for which the possibilities are remote. Worrying does not actually help me to have more control, but I suppose it gives me a false sense of having more control.
As I wonder what it would be like to just live–to let the worries drop away and just be wherever I am–a sense of freedom washes through me. I feel my chest open, and I catch myself smiling. I think I would enjoy it. And, I know it’s not so easy for me to let go.
I want to be happy. That is the simple truth. I don’t think happiness comes from having everything properly sorted into its right place and making sure it stays there. I imagine it has more to do with giving up trying so hard to sort things, and finding a sense of comfort in just allowing things to be as they are, where they are, when they are. I kind of suck at this. Yet, I think I’d like to try a little bit more to trust and let go.