Monday, September 9, 2013

Holding My Breath

I feel like I'm living while holding my breath.  I know, it's no way to live and I should find some other way to be, but I don't know how.

Master is leaving his job at the end of the month and almost certainly we'll have to relocate.   Sooner or later, he's not sure.  

When I go outside and look at all the places I love, things we have built or nurtured: the garden, the fences, the land itself, the trees, the barns in the process of being re-roofed, the grave markers of generations of beloved dogs,  even the scraggly grass I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of not having it anymore.  I don't know how I managed to get so attached to a place. 

Yesterday I cleaned out the guest room, boxed up some stuff, threw away or bagged up a bunch of other stuff to donate.   Then I sat and stared at the walls I painted a few years ago, now knowing that I'd be starting all over again with someone elses crappy house trying to redo it to suit us.  

I promise my next blog will be happier, because I do have some good news too. 


  1. Sorry to hear about your struggles. Uncertainty is certainly difficult!

  2. Thank you both! Sometimes I cope better than others with uncertainty. Obviously, yesterday morning was not one of my better times.

  3. I'm so sorry for you! One can love a place like one can love anything, like people or animals. I feel for you!

    1. Thank you, c. I'm getting back to being thankful for what I have.


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