So, we had a lovely New Years- had a great time playing games and drinking and hanging out for a few hours with a friend in Oakland, then came home after the fireworks and gun-fire had calmed down. New Year’s Day was nice- we got a lot more unpacking done. It’s the little bits left with the unpacking now- sorting the books better, hanging my earrings, those things.

The 2nd dawned bright and early, and in accordance with my “resolutions*”, I stayed out of bed when I got up to feed the cats at 5:45, instead of sliding back into bed for another hour. I stayed up, I had breakfast, I did a little exercise. I dressed like a grown-up, instead of just grabbing something out of the top of a drawer. Was at work five minutes early. Took my vitamins.

I was so pleased. I was doing so good!

And then, of course, the other shoe dropped. By noon I was attributing the headache to caffeine withdrawals. By two, the chills were clearly just re-adjustment to the office climate controls. By four, I gave in and called my beloved professor to cancel our weekly appointment. (Canceling on him is always a hard decision- which do I fear more: disappointing him by bailing? Or having to barf at his house?) Fortunately I made the right decision, and was, by 7pm, very clearly down with the stomach flu.

I always struggle with being sick- if I’m sick enough to truly be out of it, that’s fine, but it’s the middle ground where you’re too sick to do anything productive, but not sick enough to just be bed-ridden, that gets me. I feel stuck, and useless, and turn into a whiny troll of frustration. It gets hard to remember that I’m home for a reason, and that what I’m actually supposed to be doing is very little.

I’m a person who gets restless easily- if I’ve lived somewhere for longer than two or three years, I start getting panicky. People ask me where I plan to be in five years, ten years, and I have no idea- I know who I want to be, but where? doing what? Too many options. Trying to commit to something that will require me to be in the same place years down the road terrifies me. Thinking about “settling down” gives me hives. I’m sure if I ever buy a house, I will have the mother of all melt-downs, and will only be comforted with the knowledge that, as owner, I can sell at any time.

Right now, I am feeling Restless, and its close cousin Stuck. All I can see in my lovely new house is boxes, all I can feel is older, and no closer to any of my goals. No new novel written, no new travels taken. Journey through the Tarot goes on, thank heaven, but it is a long-term project, so seeing progress there is challenging for both Stephanie and myself, no matter how much progress we make. I’m spinning my wheels, often on things I love, but with no sense of forward momentum, no way to gauge that anything has changed.

None of it’s true, of course- we moved, into a place that’s a serious upgrade. I got promoted at work, which is great. I’m working on several personal projects, and of course, unpacking continues. But when I’m sitting here on my couch, in my bathrobe, trying to convince myself that I should probably eat something other than saltines… all I can see is the boxes.