It’s morning. I slept for the first time in months without taking anything to help me sleep, which was nice, though I still woke up four or five times – to turn out the light, because the storm woke me, because the phone buzzed two separate times for no discernible reason – and had strange dreams. Hotel dreams, bathroom dreams, Kelsea dreams, travel dreams, library dreams, sex dreams, dreams about dead friends and dead strangers.
On each of those waking occasions, my mind started to bustle about with all that I have to do. Fortunately, I was too tired to open those thoughts up to full-throttle, but I’m sure they were some of the sparks that lit my busy and confusing dreams. Now that I am up, I am sitting here writing. Which, given what I am going to say, really makes no sense.
But I am on the edge of overwhelmed. The fringe of a freak-out. The precipice of panic. There is too much to do and not enough hours in the day. I look around the Cottage, that is packed with stuff, and know that the landlords want a lot of the stuff out by Friday. FRIDAY?! I have no boxes. I have no time to pack. I have work on job #2 to do tonight. I was supposed to have a date tonight.
I can’t put things on the floor of the Bungalow because I still have to do the floors. We are supposed to paint today. But we have to go to another town to get tile for the bathroom (and more paint). And somewhere else to get knobs (knobs? seriously?) for the kitchen. And to the big city to get a countertop, which I can’t even pick up. And to the recycle. I’m supposed to meet with the landlord at 4:00 to get marching orders. And it’s 10:00 and Kelsea isn’t up yet. And I have my day job tomorrow. I wonder for how many consecutive hours I can stay up? I haven’t tried that unhealthy, yet necessary experiment since college.
I look around and don’t even know where to start. I guess at least it takes my mind off my heart. (Look, a fledgling poem.)
I can’t live in my house with no appliances and no toilet. Not to mention no cable or internet – just kidding, those aren’t essentials. But a toilet? Yes. I would love to pay Harry the Handyman to paint, but I only have so much money. Still, it might be worth it.
And perhaps, I should revert to my previously effective de-freak-out technique: making lists. Yes, that’s it. That’s the ticket. I’ll go pour myself some coffee and make a list.
And the first thing on the list is buying a plane ticket.