That’s what I came home to on Monday. After spending seven hours in general orientation for my new job, I joined B at home to begin the task of unpacking.
Everything was in chaos. For the second move in a row, we couldn’t find the screws for the couch – seriously, how hard is it to put them on the frame somewhere – so we had that in pieces all over the living room. Once we did find them and get the couch together, flipping it upright revealed a mold spotted seat. Luckily it was nothing a little oxi-clean couldn’t fix. But, between that and three trips to Best Buy to finally get the right cable for the new computer, I was pretty worn out.
My first day was awesome. Having our stuff finally delivered after 107 days without it, was also awesome. I just wish the two days didn’t have to coincide. I’m somewhat amused by it all happening at once.
I spent weeks wishing for anything to do. I spent the last couple of months crying regularly because of boredom and frustration and the general malaise of depression that hung over me. And now it’s all happening at the same time.
I’m learning to get up with an alarm again. I’m learning to spend my whole day out on the go. I’m learning a whole new job. That by itself would be a lot of transition for one week. I haven’t had to get up with an alarm on a regular basis in over eighteen months.
Add in the evening unpacking, and it’s a lot like getting thrown in the deep end and told not to drown as a pedagogical method for learning to swim. It will work, I will get through, it just might not be pretty.
Really, what it means, is cutting myself some slack. It means not feeling bad about picking up dinner from a restaurant. It means not beating myself up for skipping the gym. It means being kinder to myself.
And that’s really the hard part. I want to do it all. At once. But I have to know that trying to do so is a guaranteed way for me to come apart at the seams.
I can only unpack one box at a time. And that’s how I’m living life right now.