Decision making has never been terribly hard for me, or I guess sometimes it has, I do tend to think things to death sometimes, but once I make a plan of action, I’m really good about saying, okay, this is it, let’s do it. When I masterminded my way into my current position at the crossroads, knowing full well that there would be a decision point up ahead, I definitely thought through all sorts of contingencies and what ifs.
I had a plan. Still do.
So I made the decision, was and still am happy with it, I put the wheels in motion, and right off the bat, bam, things looked perfect. Put the house up for sale, got a great offer, traded in the Prius, bought and started fixing up the van, got more and more excited about getting out there on the road (yeah, there is still that one decision, but I do still have a few options with it), and yee ha, it was time to take life’s next big step. New adventure awaited.
Until the roadblock got thrown up there.
When the house sale came to a screeching halt, and really, it skidded for a long time, those folks still aren’t 100% gone yet, but I suspect that they can’t really buy it, and their realtor seems to be not very capable, but even the first go round of sign the contract, which I hesitated on, and then the, oops, we can’t really do this, it took a couple of weeks, or damned near it, and when the sale came to a halt, so did everything else.
I tried, like hell, to keep going with the van, it’s fun.
But then the welding glasses showed up in the mail instead of the electric inlet, and still I couldn’t find one in town, or where to even look for one, so it’s order and wait for it again. And the freaking mess in the garage definitely needs to be sorted, again, but yard saling again when I’m still showing the house, there’s not enough to really sell without dragging it all out, and I’m still using it, while I’m here.
And the garbage, is full, again, and the recycling, too, so clean-up is, well, halted.
And I’ve sorted, again, a bit, but I hate it. I don’t want to pick the veggies from the garden, the grapes are feeding whatever wants them, the gifts of the land no longer seem something I should accept. I can’t move, and it’s totally psychological. Inertia. There’s no place to go, nothing to do until the house gets sold.
And next door, in between screams of the saw, freaking Rick Springfield singing Jessie’s Girl, enough to drive me darned near anywhere, but I don’t feel like driving. And the whole family is gathering for the afternoon of loud cackling and screaming and crying, just got that announcement, unasked. Impossible not to hear.
I should have gone camping, but the yard needed to be tidied up, the cat’s outhouse removed, finally, for today’s showing, I got those things done, but the showing got cancelled before they even looked, not interested.
It’s a beautiful day, I was thinking about some time out back, and the f**king neighbors (I like them, they’re nice people except that they) are playing bad music, too loud, they’re engaged in conversation on topics so puerile and pop culture I could puke, and probably getting hammered, they seem to be, so no, I can’t even enjoy sitting in the back yard gazing out at the landscape I love so well.
That’s inertia I can handle. This is kind of tougher.
Dance until we die. That is what it sounds like that bad, bad song is saying, dancing 'til she dies to that bad disco beat. Romeo is crying.