Bring On the Insanity!

apartment-for-rent-0109A startling image greeted me after my weekend trip back East. Not unexpected, but still startling. I came up the sidewalk, dazed from my airplane Ativan and too little sleep the night before and the stress of Crisis discord, and I saw it – a huge FOR RENT sign taped to our front door.

No, not unexpected at all. We had informed our landlord months ago that we’d be moving. And just recently, I gave him our target departure date, with the caveat that nothing was certain, pending our house hunt  (more on that here). But when we told him in January we were leaving, and even when I discussed the subject a few weeks ago, the move seemed like a distant event, that tiny spot on the horizon we were only inching toward. The sign brought it all home, once again, the latest in a string of unpleasant reminders. I am not long for this city, and it hurts.

Ah, springtime in the orchards

Ah, springtime in the orchards

That’s not to say the anger and sadness and dread have not faded somewhat. They have, they have. As I told Samantha, her leaving for CT released  a lot of the negative emotions that had accumulated in my head and heart, the spiritual equivalent of the crap that clings to and corrodes the anode and cathode on your car battery. And the trip had some positives, a few reminders of the good things that await when I return. Mostly, the friends I’ll be seeing on a more regular basis. And then there was…no, that’s it. The friends. Oh, and the blossoms on the fruit trees that surround my mother’s house. I hadn’t been home during early May in years and missed seeing them. Yes, it’s the little things I’ll enjoy. And I will enjoy seeing Samantha happy, assuming the move brings that for her. Assuming my misgivings about the change don’t block out that warming light, as they threatened to do here the past few months.

So, the trip: Seeing Samantha after almost three weeks was a joy, though that’s not to say we didn’t have our moments as we wrestled with some of the move issues still remaining. I saw several old and dear friends, visited Manhattan (which reaffirmed my feelings that I could not live in all cities; Chicago is definitely more my pace), saw my play in New Jersey. A mixed bag, that was. As with most plays, some actors were better than others, and as with most plays of mine, I would have done differently a line reading or two. But on the whole, a good program, though the six-hour drive back to Granby, after going non-stop for two days, was a bit of a bitch. Kudos as always to Samantha for doing the driving, though it might have been nice to get behind the wheel for a little bit, since I haven’t driven in three weeks.

Monday was spent house-hunting and wondering what the hell I am doing. I’m not even sure I really want to own a house; no, scratch that—I don’t, but it makes “sense.” During a Crisis in which little else does, buying now makes sense. But with neither one of us truly excited about being homeowners again, how much sense does it really make?

So, the weekend was a mixed bag, and then I came home to the sign. And work I didn’t want to do, and calls from my mother about our trip. Even that, a week in Italy, something that should be fun and exciting, stirs some dread. Too much time away from work, too much time shepherding around my mother, too strong a reminder that I’d rather be traveling with Samantha and then coming back to our home, and not coming back alone to an apartment I will soon be vacating, not knowing where I’ll be living or what Samantha will be doing for work.

Pondering all this today, a thought I’ve had before struck me: Wouldn’t it be nice to be crazy? Not batshit psychotic and delusional and homicidal, but enough where others made decisions for me and didn’t expect much of me (or I of myself [wait a minute; that’s not insanity, that’s infancy]). I’d hit another of those moments where I think functioning as a responsible person, day in and day out, is too much work, you know? Too unfulfilling and offering too little reward. “Bring on the insanity!” I said to myself. Forget the bush-league anxiety and neuroses. Make it (ah, unintended allusion to one part of life that has been rewarding the past two months) the real thing. But I am not crazy. I have no out from this situation. I plod on. I hope for some form of contentment to come soon. I hope to find the tools so I can create it myself.

The Crisis speeds along. Samantha will have been gone 4 weeks tomorrow. We will be moving soon, and I will be facing my demons about being out of Chicago and back in CT. Or not. At least the Red Sox turned around their early season skid. And warmer weather is slowly coming. And I have so many friends concerned about me and willing to help me get through all this. A blessing, truly.


~ by mburgan on May 6, 2009.

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