I have had no access to Blogger for the last 2 or 3 days - to my blog or anyone else's. Inexplicably. Anyway, that's all water under the bridge now and too boring to write about. It was very frustrating at the time, and added to a mood of stuckness and disengagement.
Moving house is a complicated matter. After the practical things are all done, or mostly done (still a big trip to IKEA in the offing, once the weather calms down), and the dust, literal and metaphorical has settled, there's the emotional fall-out. After what happened to me in November, when I was forced to resign from my job over my blog, the opportunity to throw myself into all things house-related was welcome. There was always something to do, for weeks and weeks. We packed boxes, we moved stuff up here, we liaised with all the contactors, we chose carpets, we cleaned and did various odd jobs in the other house in preparation for our tenant. We were busy, we were tired, we were excited. Also sad, and disoriented and stressed. But I was not thinking about what had happened with the job, and that was a relief.
Now we are not so busy, and although I have a small amount of work, it has only been occupying 3 half days a week so far. I have felt all of a sudden, very empty, lost and rootless. All through November, December and January I had no heart, time, energy or creativity for writing and now feel very disconnected from it. My only job application did not even result in an interview. And the weather has just gone on and on and on being cold, frequently icy, snowy, foggy, and now today, bitter winds are howling down the chimney. Hard times. Nothing takes away from the excellence of our choice in moving up here. We have space, and light and views. Nonetheless the adjustment will take time. Bigger rooms make me feel expansive, but at times I miss the cosiness of the old house. Being further from town means it is rural and beautiful here, with lovely views and enormous skies. But sometimes I feel far away from the old neighbourhood and the pleasure of trotting down the hill to town in 5 minutes flat.
Carpets are being laid this week, which will at last allow us to use all the rooms of the house, one of which is my own small, blue room. I think I need that private, reflective space, to write and dream and collect myself. And I certainly need to be able to unpack the rest of my stuff that remains in boxes and bags. Sometimes I can't even remember what I've got, but just sense that things are missing. This may be more an internal than a real state, but it is certainly mirrored in the need to unpack and rediscover my possessions.
2 comments:
Moving and losing a job are considered two of the top stresses, so allow yourself the time to recover. Your new home sounds wonderful, and that blue room too. Once you've finished unpacking and getting properly settled and rested up a bit, I can imagine your writing will just pour forth. Blessings to both of you and your new home!
I can highly recommend a blue room of one's own. It's seemed extravagant to keep mine fully heated and available through the winter, and my instinct is to move inward towards the red heart of the house then anyway, but often I just go in there for a few minutes, especially in the sunny afternoon, and breathe in the space, speak to it for a few moments, and feel restored.
It seems to me you've said all the things to yourself which you need to hear, but I'll try to reaffirm them anyway. Now you are at last less busy, try not to see it as a threatening time when all the fear and negativity you've been holding back can wash back in, but as an opportunity for taking stock, and resting a little, and gathering your creativity together again.
The remedy for grief is grief, anyway.
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