I have all these plans - an online ESL course, mediation training, getting in shape and working for Habitat for Humanity. And travel, lots of travel.
But right now? What I want to do is read and declutter, isolate and then wonder why I'm not getting out more and why my cell phone doesn't ring. And pay undue attention to every single tiny muttering of my body until I'm convinced I have a terminal illness - or, if I don't, I will soon.
I have acted this way in the past - between jobs, mostly. In my younger years, when we'd move, I'd tell my then-husband I wanted to stay home for a while. But after three weeks I'd be restless and bored and probably terminally ill, and I'd go find a job.
I really thought I was past all this. But I guess not. I'm still basically the same person, only older and, supposedly, wiser.
So I guess reality has hit. I'm not working and I'm not between jobs. My time is entirely my own, and what I do with it is up to me. My intention is to say yes to what the universe offers, but what if the universe remains silent?
On Tuesday I'm having my eyelids "lifted" - not for cosmetic purposes, but because time and gravity have had their way with the lids, which now obscure my looking-up vision. Supposedly I could be injured by an overhanging tree limb I don't see. That will probably keep me at home for a few days, unless I go out wearing the oversized sunglasses I bought at Fred Meyer last week. I am well aware this procedure is rarely done on people younger than 60, and once again I am reminded that I am no longer young.
On Friday my desktop computer crashed. It's an IMac, and I've been using Macs for 15 years at least, and that's never happened. But now it has. I'm hoping the tech guy can get all my data back - I've got it backed up to three places, but if the data was corrupted the last time it got saved, it may not be useful. And in that data is all my writing and financial recordkeeping, all my planning and analysis documents. Everything I needed to keep my Bag Lady calm.
So I booted up my laptop and got some things done. Then I pulled out the filing folder, put everything in the filing cabinet in the basement, pulled out the old docs I no longer need - paycheck stubs for Art and me, old bank account and credit card statements - and brought them upstairs to shred. And the shredder broke.
So here I am, on a Sunday in August in Seattle, in a heat wave, without the comforts of the computer that provides me with the illusion of safety and security, with a new folder called "shred", feeling like Alfie. You know, "What's it all about?"
I'm an optimist. I guess I thought I'd just glide through this large life transition, unlike everyone else who has to slog through it.
Go ahead and laugh!