I hate change. Surprises suck, too. Do not – and I really mean this – do not ever throw me a surprise party. I’m not the type of person who says, “No, no. Don’t make a big deal.” when I don’t mean it. I mean it. And if you tell me you don’t want a surprise party, I will believe you. So don’t be disappointed when the dark home you return to remains dark. I took you at your word.
It’s not surprising, then, that I am a nester. I like my cozy spaces. I like to stay within a reasonable radius of my home for errands and shopping and entertaining and socializing. In fact, this website started because I was trying to make my new home a comfortable nest – finding fun and quirky things around town helped me to line feathers over the prickly branches and sharp twigs of suburbia
That’s why I’ve been on the verge of tears – big ugly ones – all day. As I write this, I’m hearing gravel and tile and insulation and ceramic and metal and glass tumble down between the studs and slide and bump its way down a big yellow tube onto my poorly manicured front lawn. Agita is what I’m feeling in my toes. I don’t have words for how my shoulders and stomach and heart are dealing with the rough-and-tumble change.
Uneasy doesn’t quite do it. Dis-ease is more like it.
And that’s even before my anxiety about the cash it’s costing to give me all of this toe-to-hairline anxiety. Just typing that in made the hair on my neck stand at attention.
But hovering over all those feelings is guilt. I feel guilty for feeling anxious! Who the frick-n-frack do I think I am wallowing in self-pity over a NEW bathroom? Poor me. I get to re-do cruddy pipes and nasty tiles and a cramped stand-in shower for sparkling white subway tile and clean PVC pipes. And who gets to do that these days?
It’s a privilege to feel this anxiety. And I feel lucky to have an inner “Snap out of it!” side that helps me to realize how lucky I am in the midst of my discomfort with the sounds of glass shards dancing down into a suburban dumpster. (Yes, it actually says SUBURBAN on it.) I wish more people would realize how fortunate they are to have what Twitter calls #firstworldproblems. Especially because some first world problems are pretty horrific as well. But they don’t include replacing broken tiles with bright new ones.
Does hearing Cher’s best line from Moonstruck help you get over yourself? Help me out with what keeps you grounded.