“Take these dogs away from me … before they bite!”
That’s a line from a song, but it could’ve been a good line for this day on the Journey.
For I felt absolutely on the edge of rotten today.
Dunno exactly why, but as I’ve explained before I sometimes wake up and feel extremely ‘low on energy’, more edgy, more irritable, more anxious.
Today was one of those days …
It was also the day where we moved beds and other stuff from one room to another in the two-roomer and everything was only slightly organized chaos.
I hate moving, even if it is only from one room to another – with stuff.
Even if it’s to make room for Jay, my son.
I hated it particularly today because another little troll, whom you now by now, reared his head:
My irritation that I never seem to have enough time to make everything clean and organized enough.
In the afternoon, we had had several back and forth with whatever furniture we have, but had to move several times, to get the beds where the belonged.
We finally kind of finished up, but with a load waiting for next weekend: Dismantling shelves, throwing things out, putting up new shelves on remaining wallspace which is not for new cupboard for adult and child clothes…
Yeah, we finished up and I felt edgy and rotten-ish still …
But then I walked to the baker’s for some muffins and the cold air did me some good. Cleared something…
I felt that I had to give up this struggle. We’re never going to get a clean and orderly ‘house’ in the foreseeable future. Even if I clean it 100 per cent from now and until Jay comes.
Because when he comes all bets are off.
And, well, to be honest my girlfriend is not the most orderly person in the world when it comes to clothes and such, so … it’s probably not adding anything to the project that she’s going to be the one at home for a year, taking care of Jay, while I (try to) take the hat on, suitcase in hand, and go work.
Then I came home and lay down, and we watched some internet-transmitted telly on the flatscreen about nothing.
Then I felt Jay move, for the first time, when putting my hand on Char’s belly. It was almost nothing. Almost. But I felt it.
That wasn’t the worst of feelings.
Then it struck me, after having asked my higher angels for a bit of aid, that I felt incredibly … grateful for all my stuff, all the beautiful important useful things I have with or without histories.
Even the shampoo in the bathroom …
Or an old DVD I have to get rid off anyway to create shelfspace for babystuff …
I. Felt. Grateful. For my stuff. All of it.
No matter how messy it was.
No matter that other people have more stuff and many other people have a lot less. I didn’t compare at all, up or down.
I. Just. Felt. Deeply. Grateful.
For my stuff.
That was also not the worst of feelings.
In fact it was very beautiful, even if it was gossamer.
But a strong gossamer-thread of a feeling … definitely.
Like a single but sun-like intense ray that cut through the rotten-ish-ness. Definitively.
The feeling is still with me this evening, after many hours, making the day worth it.
Making telling you about it worth it.
Including the rotten-ish-ness that made it necessary to call for the feeling.
I don’t know where it came from, but I’m almost certain it came because I asked for it.
And if I’m wrong about that, it’s still worth telling you about.