Sometimes, like when I’m placing metal ornamental palm trees into a half-empty basket on the bathroom floor, to make room for mouthwash on the vanity, I get freaked out that my husband hasn’t gotten a job yet.
We’ve been here nearly a month.
I would have thought by now we’d be making temporary housing arrangements for him to live in Illinois. I would have guessed that by now, he’d be coming home weekends.

 Sometimes, like while Moo watches Nova and MIL tells her, “If you love science, you ought to read the Bible,” I am glad my husband hasn’t gotten a job yet, because his smirk can keep me from freakinthefuckout.

 I know that my natural tendencies edge me toward fear and panic during stress. Fear is a dark wash that confines me to sadness.  All too quickly, I can feel shattered and paralyzed by it, and then without cause or provocation, hope blows in like the wind, renewing my faith.

I’m not sure why I vacillate between utter despair and hope. I’d like to live in abiding hope, as the world seems clearer and far more magical when I’m hopeful.
Of course, he will find a job he likes, and of course, we will find a home we like — because this is how it’s always been.

Waiting for that moment is always a challenge. My own personal challenge is not waiting for everything to come together, but rather in enjoying the life I have now.  I need to relax into it. I need to accept each day for what it is, and for what small joys I find.

I always do this, but right now, it seems particularly crucial to my mental health. The scenery is most helpful. I breathe into it, as it seems to breathe into me. Expanses of green grass and small scurrying critters exhilarate me. My joy in the landscape is only matched by my relief not to be in my previous landscape.

The life I have right now is merely uncomfortable, not painful or overwhelming. While I feel uneasy, I am far less busy than I was. I could view this time as a rest: a well-deserved rest. The days zoom by quickly, presumably because I enjoy them. I haven’t spent this much time with The Mister since…? We have entire conversations uninterrupted.  Really, there’s more sex and snuggles, much more laughter as well – but it’s the talking I love. It’s awfully nice that soldiers don’t blow up his phone with stupid questions 24/7. He never gets called out in the middle of dinner. The US Army hasn’t interfered with our life one iota in the last month.

I miss solitude, as the four of us adults are at home most of the day, every day. The Mister and I go out, even if it’s just to have coffee or to run an errand. At least once a week, we sit down to a quiet meal alone, and that was a virtual impossibility before.

I don’t always feel I have enough time to write or read, and I miss lengthy chats with family and friends.

I feel scattered when I’m trying to perform the simplest of tasks. I’ve mastered the assemblage of my morning coffee (although I am perhaps forbidden to actually make the coffee.) I’ve managed to learn how to roll towels instead of fold them, and how to use the alarm system. I’ve not figured out where all the light switches are, where the secret arsenal of toilet paper is, or where all the dishes go. (I wash them a lot, but I don’t put them away.)
The appliances here are too finicky for Joeys. The washing machine swirls our clothes gently for a fucking hour, but manages to weave them into large laundry ropes. The microwave competes with French chefs, when all I want it to do is make my water hot enough to steep tea.  According to MIL, I mustn’t spill bean soup onto the hot electric cooktop, not because it’s messy, but because I will start a fire.
I feel like my household appliances should work for me and not against me?

I hope I never become fully ensconced in the ways of the Palace of Rules. I hope I am gone in June, living in a home instead of a house.  Until then, I shall focus on the green grass. But I want you to know, my grass will be greener. *laughs*