Yesterday afternoon I kept dozing off. It was safe, I was happily ensconced at the salon for a manicure and pedicure, and was probably the most relaxed I've been in over a week. I actually came home and took a nap before busying myself again. Can't say that I was energetic though, I had barely enough energy to spiralize some zucchini into zoodles. Which was good because it meant I at least had something to eat.
Zoodles with olive oil and garlic, seared scallops. Perhaps the garlic is darker than I intended, and the scallops lighter, but delicious none the less.
You see, I've not been sleeping very well at all. I stay up too late (because I can't sleep) and wake up too early, and although the circles under my eyes grow deeper and darker, sleep eludes me. I've been simultaneously excited and terrified, extremely focused and yet distracted, feeling like I am standing on the edge, but on the edge of what? The precipice? Shangri-La? Likely neither of those. I just have to open the door and walk through.
I am closing on a new house this morning, hence all the stress and excitement. Why the particular sense of terror mingled with all that excitement? I only suppose that it is that same sense of striking out on my own, of letting go, perhaps mingled with a tinge of fear. I alternate between being long past ready to move, although I don't yet have my current house on the market and I don't have a moving date, and a deeply unsettling need to hunker down and stay even though I know in my bones that it is not the right thing to do. Sometimes the familiar is all too appealing.
Besides, in a truly rational sense, it is not like I am really doing anything I haven't done before. Its not my first house. George wasn't even really all that involved in the last house purchase, even though he was here for emotional support, at least in his physical presence and its link to the shared history and relationship. Intellectually, and often emotionally, however he was not always there, and how I struggled with that loss at the time, with the responsibility I did not want to claim. I had managed everything for a long time. Despite all that, despite decades of experience in life and houses, it is like everything is new, and what lies beyond the door frame is shadowed in fog.
The first Iris Histroides popped its head up this week. One brave, lonely blossom surrounded by bare ground. She made me smile. She still make me smile. She looks so delicate and fragile, yet I know she will survive whatever Mother Nature throws her way, even frosts and snow. I should take heart in that. Spring comes regardless. All you have to do is walk through the door.
