I'm staggering, lately, under the weight of what I've cast off. Ironic. I'm laughing wryly.
I want to be happy within myself, regardless of what I have or where I live. I was pretty smug about my self-contained bliss, until I realized how easy it was to be blissful in the stillness of the countryside, in the ease of my big house, in the utter bigness of the vista. What bullshit. Big talk for a little mind, Missy.
Of all things, I can't find room in my life for my plants. My plants meant a lot to me, and now I'm putting them on the curb. FREE: whatever I used to like a lot. Pure crap. Apparently, I don't have a Buddha self, or a Gandhi spirit. I am full of shit.
We have to install some new heating system for the simple pleasure of not having the house smell like piss and shit. Booyah!
The new half-acre yard? Needs a fucking lawn tractor. Because this move has been all about getting simple.
The old house? Still have it. Can't sell it. Still paying for it. Still mowing it. Still maintaining it. Simple! So simple! It's Fuck Me simple!
Monday, August 4, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
2 comments:
#1. I have this on my googlereader feed, so yes, you have at least one reader. :)
#2. Ugh. Do you think you'll feel better about it after the big house is sold?
#3. So small plants can't fit? That's one tiny house! I shall have to visit and take up lots of extra room.
Wow! I think that makes you my audience!
I think selling the Big House can only help. I have the persistent feeling I don't belong anywhere yet.
Yeah, it's weird about the space, but mostly anything with a horizontal surface gets filled quickly. The things I did with plants before just don't work here. I've got a few that I won't give up.
However, there's always horizontal space for you! "Literally." There's a single bed upstairs in a cute little cubby.
Post a Comment