The area of Portugal I grew up in, or rather the part of the ocean accessible from it — when I was little an excruciating 2 hour trip through the city on overcrowded, irregularly spaced buses, now 15 minutes up the highway — is known for sudden and incredibly impressive waves. So impressive it’s become a surfing paradise, drawing people from all over the world.
When I was eight — I think — I drowned. Oh, no, not really. Not even to the point of stopping breathing and needing resuscitation. But … Let me explain.
I was eight and playing in the very shallow part of the ocean. I had my back to the main part of the ocean. And suddenly, out of nowhere, a wave lifted me off my feet and rolled me. My eyes were open, and it was beautiful greeny yellow inside and I inhaled some water, and I couldn’t tell which way was up and–
My dad must have been very close, saw me go under, and dove in before I was dragged out to see, and pulled me back. My first words to him coughing and spluttering and spitting were “I died.” He still quotes this as one of the funniest things I’ve ever said. And it’s probably true.
It’s true in the sense that wave changed me. it showed me that things are unpredictable, and also that the beautiful can be deadly. And in that moment of upsideownness (totally a word) the mind somehow changed and the world with it.
There have been other waves in my life, including the pneumonia that almost killed me at 33, the concussion at 40 and– other times. Including the year of the five moves, five years ago.
This wave…. The move from hell or house purgatory or escape from Colorado…. whatever you want to call it, might be bigger than all of those, or in retrospect it might prove to have been just a few minutes of being rolled around. Right now, we don’t know. There is danger still, though perhaps not as great as my paranoid mind perceives (I have money/security issues. Always had. Knowing I have them is no cure.)
We should have been done two months ago. We should. Except this has been house fix up from Murphy.
There are always things that go wrong, particularly when trying out a new process/way of fixing something/whatever. This one…
Part of it is the unvailability/unreliability of supplies, and part of it: like, stain two floors, made of the same thing with the exact same mixture, varnish with same varnish and how in heck is one greenish and one RED. Like the reddest wood I’ve ever seen? And no, it’s not the wood (it really was the same, same batch.) the stain? Possibly. It was a different batch, and yet….
More importantly, we’ve had stain that didn’t stick. Wood that was deffective and had to be torn out, varnish that inexplicably turned the floor coal-black. Contractors that were unreliable, etc. etc. etc.
Now? Almost done. Effectively “listed” though pictures will be taken next monday, and it will be officially up for sale on the Friday after that.
Younger son and husband had me come home last night. I mean last night. We drove through the night and got in at 3 am. Younger son went back to touch up a dozen small things and supervise cleaners.
I’m terrified it won’t sell fast. We spent our savings and overextended, because once things started going wrong, we had to finish it. You can’t sell a construction site. Or at least not do it and recoup.
I’m trying not to worry. Of course I do.
A lot of you are being run off jobs by the
Juden-frei vaccine “mandates” of our serene Fuhrer Zhu Bai Den. My gut tells me there will be a giant economic crash. As in, massive. And I don’t know what that means for selling the albatross.
Trying not to worry.
Came home to a mostly-packed house, though my office is setup (good move on my part.)
And I’m dead.
As in, I feel like when I came home after pneumonia and 11 days in ICU. I am not sick, but I don’t feel well. Husband sent me up to bed, so I’m writing this post from bed. Taking in account how difficult this is, it’s probably right. He’s also insisting he cooks tonight.
I look pale and gaunt, and like I just had a great illness. And I worry about not being there for the final clean and “zipping up.” Though son is probably okay with it. I mean, he is the clone.
Prayers are requested for house to sell as fast as possible. Crazy person walking in with a cash bid above our wildest dreams first day it’s up would be GREAT.
I feel guilty I’m not writing or editing, but I do realize I’m “ill” or at least recovering. And tomorrow might not be much better. Against all my instincts and screaming internal sense, it’s too early to take that breath. I’d only drown faster.
The world has changed in the months I was head down in this, and I’m not sure I like the hints I’m getting, nor do I think I should look just yet.
Meanwhile and in an interesting development, About halfway through the day on Monday my brain decided I was done with the house stuff. I literally couldn’t think about it. Instead, plots and character voices too up all my brain. That’s still there. It will be worked on.
For now, though, I went for a gentle lunch break walk with husband, in the park next door, with the sun and the nice bench to rest in (seriously, I think we walked like 200 ft. I’m TIRED) and now I’m here, on the bed,with the laptop. Some friends on social media. Looking out the window t the beautiful golden trees.
The dye is cast. The Rubicon is crossed. On the other end, there will be time for fear, and work and determination.
For now there’s the bed. There’s Havelock cat sleeping next to me. (He is very determined I’m not allowed to get up. Going for the lunch walk got me a yelling at.)
In a way, I’ve died. (Just leaving my home-of-the-heart is a death, in a way.)
I just don’t know what comes next.