Bits and Pieces

I went to a dear friend’s wedding in New York this past weekend and have just arrived at my home in Richmond to pack up our belongings. I walked through the door exhausted from the red-eye flight and walked into my house as I have never once done before…alone. I have left the boys and Husband in LA to clean up and clear out our stuff this week and as I entered the quiet, clean, calm space, I started to cry. The tears slowly, but effortlessly, began to creschendo to sobs, and I wailed and wailed for a good long while.

I don’t want to rent my house. In fact, it’s not the renting of the house or even the use of my space that I am reacting to; it’s the knowledge that I have carefully placed all my random crap in random drawers throughout this house and I know where, and why, it all is where it is. Each drawer has a meaning to me, and each item has been chosen by me, to stay and form the magpie pile it has become. All through our three rentals thus far I have managed to keep that in tact. Until now.

Ms. Model, whom I am hoping is actually going to be sweet and honest, is moving in and wants my stuff outta here. And if I had to move the furnishings and that was it, I probably would have cried, but not wailed. But emptying drawers and corners and hidden piles into boxes that we all know will be absolutely ages before we open again, is grabbing my heart right now and making me very sad.

Money. Security. Alleviating stress. Important reasons to go through this self-inflicted torture. ‘Things’ don’t matter; England is in me, always, as a friend pointed out, no matter where we lay our hat. Friends opening their homes to us for the summer; new adventures to be had. It can all be exciting once I decide, and I know it’s going to have to be a conscious thing, decide to let go, let the brown boxes house our belongings for a bit and accept that we are not detaching from life in London; we are simply making some money on our house.

It’s incredible how awful I can feel when I’m tired. And awaiting my period. Not a good combo. Husband is actually in Toronto for 24 hours and during our three minute conversation on the phone, he said that he looks upon this week in London for me as a great opportunity to see friends, have some ‘me’ time in our home; I should enjoy myself. “It’ll only take you, what, like a half a day to pack it all up?” he remarks with seriousness. Men…they really are that clueless sometimes.

Well, I’m going to wallow for a bit longer. Eventually I will walk down the lane and see this decision as the right one. Not sure it’ll be until well after I hand over the keys and am staring at the Pacific once more, but perhaps I should buy something with the rent money to mark this occasion? I’m sure that’s what Husband meant about enjoying myself.

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