Home Sweet Nowhere

It's been nineteen days since my last post, if my math serves me correctly. I could be wrong, but I never said I was a mathematician. I'm a writer. I'm not supposed to be able to add and I don't make bones about it.

Things have been chugging right along as scheduled; for any of you unaware, I'm in the process of a big relocation and packing and sorting and throwing out and (throwing up and) renting moving trucks with dollies and insurance and driving the big twenty-seven foot bitch almost three hundred miles from my current home. Which, incidentally, is no longer my current home, as I vacated this past weekend. I had a ten-hour packing and loading marathon this past Friday and then Saturday, had a four hour unpacking marathon coupled with a fourteen hour round-trip commute. The word "hellish" doesn't even compare to what these past few weeks have actually been.

My family and I are now in limbo. Translation: transients. We stayed with my family this past weekend and moved the remainder of our belongings to my mother-in-law's house, which is about fourteen miles from where I work, out in the great outdoors. The great outdoors meaning "ten miles from the nearest store" and "tick country", which, incidentally, my husband found one on him last night. How awful. I felt buggy all night. I awoke this morning to the sounds of way-out-in-the-country birds, and it was cool; but it was at 5:30 this morning, which is about two hours earlier than I normally get up on a given day, at the latest.

I feel odd, to say the least. I really do feel that sort of homeless sense, or even at least that subtle sense of displacement. All of my belongings are waiting for me in my new home and I'm living out of a suitcase and a train case for the next eleven days. I know I shouldn't feel as oddly as I do, being that we're with family, but I do. I feel discombobulated. I feel spinny. It's almost kind of like having a very, very mild-but-constant anxiety attack. I feel like I kind of don't belong anywhere and I just want to go home. But there is no home to go to right now; our home that was our home last week is just an empty, sad shell and my new home isn't yet a home - it's a house. And a house that's three hundred miles from where I am right now. It seems further away than it really is, in all senses of the word.

I was actually looking forward to getting to the office today, just to solidify a little bit of normalcy in this currently-uprooted state, which is weirding me out as it is.

My husband has a week and a half of finals left and then we're on the road. I'm just scared that this move is going to be an even bigger deal that I thought it to be, to begin with. And even bigger than it's turned out to be so far, which has been unpleasantly surprising.