Friday, September 11, 2009

Rough Day

I gathered that today was a rough one when I found myself curled in a ball in the corner of an airport crying uncontrollably (never a good look, dangerous when flying into New York on 9/11)

The reason was very simple, I think. The people that we rent from have the house on the market. We knew that when we moved in, and we were cool with it. Our last place had been on the market too. They just started showing the place and now there's an offer on it. I'm not around to work out a mortgage in time to counter the offer and so we're going to have to move (again) in June.

This shouldn't be an issue. We move a lot. What's the big deal? Right?

Well the big deal is that we chose this place with all kinds of future plans in mind. We saw it the day after Judith found out that she was pregnant. The pictures had a nursery and a crib in them. And I'd imagined this being the place to which we brought home that first child. This wasn't another house - it was going to be a real home for us, for the family that we were going to have.

Of course, as those of you who read this blog know, our happiness seems rationed and so the baby - like health and employment so soon before it, but with more tragic impact was lost. Leaving us with a house that we loved and dreamed of filling. And now (it seemed at 1pm today) was taken too. This wasn't a house that we were losing, it was the last physical connection to the baby we lost and the dreams we had for it.

And I am SO done with uncertainty. Cancer haunts ever quarter. Employment is at the whim of people who have proved mercurial, and three times a day people walk into my home and discuss in front of me what they're planning to do with the room that I'd planned would sleep my baby.

The truth, the real truth, is that I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. Just one pillar that I could cling to in the tsunami of bad karma that has been the last 5 years would be great. But I can't find one. And I am drowning. And just as Stevie Smith said people seem to think that I'm waving.

Normal service will be resumed tomorrow -- when I will go back to a windowless office and spread my brand of optimism and good cheer amongst people sulking at losing a weekend. But today, I think, I'm allowed to be down.