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.
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