The final boss battle wasn’t so bad at all.
- A bunch of papers signed ahead of time
- A communication from our most excellent lawyer
- An email from the bank
…and just like that, we’re a one-house household again. The deal closed around noon today, 21 years and 5 months to the date from closing on our “starter home.”
Farewell, little old house. May you be as good to your new owners as you were to Spouseman & me, whatever future transformations & transitions await you & them.
Meanwhile, in the new little house…<cue celebratory music and dancing>
WOOHOO, the life-draining distractions are back to normal levels! Only one trash pickup to remember. One set of utility bills to track. One set of to-do lists. ALL THE SHOUTYCAPS AND HAPPY EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!
I am giddy with anticipation and basking in possibilities. At last, I have a true room of my own, with time and air to breathe. (and a figurative raised middle finger to the specter of Charles Bukowski and his repeated dismissals of any creativity too fragile to survive without quiet, patient nurturing.)
That attitude just chafes me sometimes, especially when I am being one of those people who “can’t find time” and every post and article I read talks about “making time” like its mac & cheese from a box.
Not all artists have the kind of creativity that can be wielded like a hammer of raw elemental emotion, not all of us have molten passions that pour from our veins and pores in unstoppable torrents. Some of us coax beautiful creations from silence and soft, slippery emotions too delicate to survive in the hurly-burly environment of a busy life.
When it comes to art, I’m a blower of soap bubbles, and I dare anyone to blow good soap bubbles in a hurricane.
And, hey, look! I’m writing again already. Take that, “make-time” advice people.
Until later, all.