Yesterday, after my Tuesday Confession concerning the mourning of our cozy, tiny, lovely 675 square foot condo, I felt slightly cleansed and renewed. I suppose that’s the beauty of all of my confessions. I have a difficult time some weeks posting just one Confession, and sometimes, I could post 3 or 4 in just one day! The fact that I always feel amply CONFESS-ED is the draw.
You might be seeing more Confessions from me in the future. As they transpire. Organically.
Last night was My Gazelle’s last night off from work. For those of you who aren’t in the know, he’s a police officer, and he works a weird-ish schedule of 3PM-1AM, 4 days on, 3 days off for 5 weeks, then it switches to 5 days on, 3 days off for 5 weeks, rinse, repeat. Sometimes I don’t like to keep track of his schedule because then it’s like Christmas when I arrive home from work and see his car in the parking lot.
(cue collective “awwwww”)
He basically ends up getting 3 weekends off in a row every 5 weeks. Needless to say, changes in life situation (i.e…moving), many outside obligations (martial arts, triathlons, 15K’s, volunteer work) inevitably creep into these 3 weekends that he has off every 5 weeks, and make it nearly impossible for us to have a weekend together without interruption. We both lead very active lifestyles. I try to plan my races on weekends when he’s working, but that doesn’t always happen.
Last night was his final night off until next week, and I made tacos. That was no surprise. As I’ve mentioned in the past, he would basically barter his first-born son in favor of a well made taco.
OK, maybe not his first born son. A daughter maybe. He’s afraid of having daughters. But that’s another story.
Although our new condo is riddled with unpacked boxes (which surely spells “T-U-R-M-O-I-L” for my neurotic, organized mind), I have insisted that we at least have a proper dinner table to sit at. Last night, we ate PACOS from paper plates at our clean dinner table, and it was enjoyable. Although the room where the table currently resides has no lighting whatsoever.
It was dark. And cozy. And calm. It almost felt like home.
Almost.
I’ve instituted a new “no TV during dinner” rule. My Mama always made us abide by this rule, and I always thought it was so stooopid.
“BUT MOOOOOMMMMM!”
Now, I’m older and wiser, and I know that TV during dinner is distracting, and the background noise sometimes honestly makes me kirk out a little. Anyone else?
After dinner, My Gazelle sat a little closer to me on the sofa than he had the previous 2 days. He made a little extra effort to talk and converse and inquire. He smiled a little more. He asked all the right questions.
He read my post yesterday.
He understood why I had been such a raging ball of hormones and ugliness over the previous 2 days.
My routine…my life was uprooted. Again.
You guys.
I have moved 16 times since 1995. That is 16 times in 15 years.
- 1995: Utica, NY (for college)
- 1998: Binghamton, NY (for a job)
- 1999: Ft. Meade, MD (to run away from NY and my job)
- 1999: Columbia, MD (to share a house with a cat lady)
- 2000: Baltimore, MD (to get out of the cat lady’s house)
- 2000: Baltimore, MD (to rent a bigger townhouse)
- 2001: Baltimore, MD (to move in with “his” parents and save money to buy “our” first house)
- 2001: Baltimore, MD (to buy “our” first house)
- 2001: Pasadena, MD (yeah…that didn’t work out…moving back in with the friend from 1999)
- 2002: Chase, MD (moved in with my (now) ex-husband when things got hairy with my friend)
- 2003: White Marsh, MD (first condo with my (now) ex-husband)
- 2005: Pasadena, MD (because SURELY a big house on the water will cure my failing marriage!)
- 2006: Silver Spring, MD (yeah…that didn’t work out either. Moving in with another friend)
- 2007: Columbia, MD (aahhh…my own condo. Mine. Mine. Mine!)
- 2008: Laurel, MD (I’ve barely moved into my condo…why am I moving? Oh yeah…love…and debt…and THE FUTURE!)
- 2010: Columbia, MD (back to the condo that I love!)
Are you exhausted? Me too!
I need roots. I don’t want to move anymore. I’m tired of moving. I’m tired of being uprooted. I need some stability!
For someone who lived in the same house for 18 years while growing up, moving is sort of a strange experience. I never realized it until recently, but moving is very upsetting to me. More than anything, I just want to plant my feet somewhere and stay put.
We’ll move again in a few years, but until then, I will do my best to become as connected as I can to our bigger (although still cozy) “new” condo. He’ll sit close on the sofa, and we’ll eat dinner with the TV off. Because it just feels right.
I’m tired of keeping my life in a box. Over the next few months, I’m going to make it a point to “unpack” my life. It should be a fun process.
