So I signed a lease today.
I'll share the address Monday when it becomes legal.
But now I wonder about mowing the lawn, shoveling the driveway, where to put the grill -- oh yeah, I have to have a grill for a series of sausages (my new autobiography title).
Such are the anxieties of an address.
The stress I've lived through in the past 10 months, ameliorated by the blessings of friends and strangers, is I just didn't know that the hell was going to happen next.
I've long called it the anxiety of the unknown.
Worse, I've had this problem over the last 10 months of massive self-judgment.
I drove by nice homes, well-kept, two cars in the driveway, two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard, and wonder -- how did I fail?
This despite my favorite advice from the Buddhist nun Pema Chodron, "Love others, start with yourself."
And, oh, how I have failed. You don't have time to read that blog entry. It likely goes back to my toddler days, according to my mom, when I would stick my finger in a socket. Mom would say I should learn my lesson. I would say, "It's OK mom. That thing won't do that to me again."
There's a fine line between optimism and stupidity.
I promise I won't blow this new start. Or stick my finger in a socket.
And I promise I'll alert all of you, my dear readers, to the new start and the changes.
Peace and no electrical outlets unto you my brothers and sisters.