Green Achers

I'm sitting here in the living room, watching one of the several films I've recorded on the DVR ("Outrageous Fortune" with Shelly Long and Bette Midler). We're in the midst of another heat wave (yes, in November), the windows are open and the fan is on. In November. It was 88º today, and it's going to be 90º tomorrow, with no real end in sight. But at least the evenings are in the low 60s, so the house has a chance to cool off.

The gardeners were here today (which is normal) and they spread manure over the bare patches of the lawn that used to be bushes up against the wall. So my senses are diametrically opposed: listening to the traffic on the 210 freeway, sounding like industrial white noise, while the farm smells of fresh animal dung waft through the window.

I never heard back from Regina, the cleaning woman, so I called a chamber member (at least they were last year) and it looks like I'll even save a couple bucks by going with them. The woman was bend-over-backwards enthusiastic on the phone, telling me to call on the weekend if I wanted. So I'm thinking I'll call back tomorrow (Saturday) and arrange the whole thing. And they do windows.

Looking around, there's not that much to clean (floor, kitchen, windows, carpets), but little stuff, like cleaning out the slots the windows slide in and getting the remnants of wood glue off the floors.

I had my first drink in months this evening, and I have to say, I should be doing more drinking. It's a kind of self-medication, taking away the sinking feelings I get when I think about moving forward and making things happen, moving out and moving on. I seem to be preoccupied with movements.

This sign speaks to me

I saw this photo on Facebook today, and I had to laugh out loud. This is exactly what makes me hesitate moving forward. And when I look at the absurdity of it, I have to laugh.

I am experiencing what Fritz Perls called the cataclysmic expectation: If I make any single move, the world will fall apart. It petrifies, it ossifies, and it has the illusion of safety.

Gees, I'm busting my own balls here. I just need to focus and move. Focus and move. But in the back of my mind, I recall my visit to Wisconsin last March and all the cold and all the snow. I'm thinking that, perhaps, holding off until now to put the house on the market was really wise, looking at the subzero weather that's about to descend on that very same locale this week. Don't want to be driving in that any more than I have to.

Perhaps all my self-loathing at being so unorganized and scattered is really just God making sure that I don't hit the road to my new home while winter grips the Midwest.

Can't I simply accept that things are unfolding just as they should, and that my hand-wringing and personal tribulation are just a way to time things out so they happen in perfect order at the perfect time? In the midst of chaos, can there be a plan?

Could be. Could be. We shall see,