Decisions are painful things. This happens every time I’m faced with a major, life altering choice: once I’ve made up my mind, I can almost feel the two Barbaras split in two, each going a different way in their own parallel universes. Like playing a familiar song in your head after you’ve just heard the first few notes, I can actually see what my life might be like and play it out for bit, almost regretfully as I also mourn it’s passing.
I sit in my little mountain cabin, looking out as the sky turns grey with heavy rain and thunder booms loudly and incessantly. It can be so beautiful here, serene despite the current weather conditions…but I’m certainly not at peace. We wanted so badly to move to Oregon, and as that dream slips away, its being replaced by a more realistic and tangible choice to move to Las Vegas. I can’t imagine being completely satisfied anywhere, but the idea of something new is enough to temporarily satiate my desire for change. I’m enjoying and appreciating this down pour so much more, knowing I might be moving to a severe desert within a month or so. I’m also feeling a bit pretentious, writing in my cabin in the woods in a thunderstorm…sipping red wine, no less. Its so cliche I might throw up.
It feels like an ongoing struggle for me to remember that bad things can have some good in them – but that still doesn’t make them good. Its so obvious but so easy to forget. I’m enjoying it here today because its Sunday. With no place to be, I can sit and enjoy the rain from inside. I try to remind myself of the shitty work schedule I’ll start next week, the constant spiders in the house, the newly discovered termite infestation, the mouse poop on the kitchen counter (OK, that mouse has now crossed a line), the leaky sinks and the fridge that doesn’t keep food cold, and most importantly, the mounting debt that seems inescapable, and the thankless job I’ve found myself in, yet again, with non-existent management and chaos as my colleagues. I want a house in which everything works and bugs and critters are kept out. I want a yard for Django, a working air conditioner, a washer and dryer that works really well, and a less than 15 minute commute to work (for the first time in almost a decade). I don’t want to worry about my food going bad, snow chains for my tires, cops pulling me over for allowing gravity a little too much determination on my car’s downhill speed. Most importantly, I want to feel like I actually love my job and the people I work with. I want to feel respect, honesty and intelligence all around me. I want to be better at all of those things and I want to feel like everyone in my life wants to too.
Happiness has eluded me for so much of my life, but the longer I’m alive, the more I discover what it is NOT, and the closer I consequently feel to finding it and having it.
This entry feels as scattered and troubled as my brain. I’d stop and pick up the pieces but editing is overrated.