The thrill is NOT in the hunt . . .

It’s been one of those weeks.


You know, I feel bad complaining because there’s someone out there who has really had a HELL of a week, and, here I am . . . feeling whiny . . . because this week has been less than stellar.

Sometimes, that thought doesn’t help.

Actually, when I first started an entry, three days ago, I was crying silently in my cubby because, doggone it, I had no right to be sad, and that was making me sad, and I really shouldn’t be, which made it worse . . . Sometimes, my brain does more loop-de-loops than a hamster on a wheel. It’s viscous cycle.
Plus it was a Monday . . . a dark, dreary, raining Monday that should have been spent at home . . . Mondays are beasts, anyways, but this was the worst in a long, long time. I went to bed at 6:30 PM just to get away from it. It was nasty, folks.  Gah, Mondays . . .

Mostly it’s due to the house hunt. It’s exhausting and depressing. It’s hit me really hard this week, especially when we THOUGHT we’d found something, only to have it snatched away. Sometimes, you don’t realize how much you care until it’s over. It’s kind of the same thing as that toddler who forgets about a toy, and then she finds it in the trashcans and the world collapses. Yeah, it’s a lot like that . . . only with big toys that you live in . . . and I’m not sure my meltdowns are any more attractive than a toddlers . . . Yeah, it’s not pretty.

source

The whole desperate search ends up feeling kind of helpless—we’re working as hard as we can, saving up as much as we can, and there is just NOTHING in our price range. I’m not even kidding. We have been checking multiple real estate sites every day for months, talk to the realtor as often as possible, and we come up empty. . . It really is a faith exercise because, at this point, despite all our efforts, the well has run dry.

I guess part of it . . . ok, MOST of it, is that the lack of control bothers me. In every other aspect of my life, I was able to work to make something happen. I had help along the way, certainly, but it SEEMED that by hard work, determination, and wit, I could achieve what I wanted. If I didn’t, it was because I was lacking, not because doors were closing or Fate had other plans. The American Dream, peeps—you work it, you earn it, you get it. Not so much. Sure, you put forth effort, but, do you ever think Something bigger is working behind the scenes? Maybe you work and you get what you need because all the right doors opened because He found it fitting? So, now, I’m sitting going, “Ok, um . . . I’m doing my part! Where’s the house?”

And it’s just not there.

So we wait. I may have loads of tolerance, but patience is not my strong point. I read spoilers because I don’t like to wait for the end. Unfortunately, my life has no Wikipedia site to give away my conclusion. I mean, I know how it all ends, but how do I get there? What happens to me along the way? When do I get there? There’s just no way to figure out the middle mess. It’s the middle mess that’s the interesting bit, the load of unknowns. I have never been good with unknowns. That’s why I research and I plan. My brain and life may be a jumbled, tangled mass of chaos, but I can plan a bloody future. Unfortunately, the best laid plans of mice and men, and all that jazz . . .

The bottom line is that we will be living somewhere in Central Cali. We’re not sure exactly where or when we’ll know where, but we will lay our heads down somewhere with a roof, four walls, and running water, and that’s SO much more than most of the world has, SO much more than even some of our neighbors have. We don’t know the details, and that drives me batty, but life isn’t about making me happy. It’s about a much bigger Story that’s so much greater than my dinky little existence.

So all that to say, I’m sorry I’ve been absent. I’ve missed you all, and I’m crawling out of my self-pitying hole now, I promise.

There has to be rain to make a rainbow, right?