Bone Tired

 

We've been falling into bed every night, exhausted and happy, at about 9pm.  I think I can speak for Eric when I say we are bone tired, that we understand what that expression means after this week.  Moving boxes, furniture, and small mammals from room to room of this house has been exhilarating and exhausting.  We have been in our own little vortex, shut off from the world as we make our little nest.

That's maybe not exactly true, as I think about it.  Eric's been going to work, and I've been trying to stay on top of the thousand little tasks it takes to wrap up a semester and pull summer projects into line.  But I certainly haven't been possessed by work the way I usually am.  Instead, I'm thinking about where such-and-such a picture should be hung, or I'm losing whole minutes, gazing out my office window at the giant oak, pine tree, aspens that live there.  I wrote a poem once about someday wanting a room where a pine tree's boughs brushed against the frame of my window, and now I have it.  I don't know what to do with this fact, the fact of this dream come true.

Tired as we've been, Eric says my sleep has been active.  I bolted up in bed a few times the other night, shaking him and asking him if he was alright.  I'm sure this is for a number of reasons, but I think the biggest thing is that along with being deliriously happy to be in this new space, I'm also terrified of losing it all.  I find my thoughts drifting more frequently to my old friends, the disaster fantasies.  The better things get for us, the higher the stakes.  I envision one of us being hit by a car, taking ill, being lost.  Then what will this new house mean?  Nothing. 

The reason it is so great here is because it makes it possible for us to be together in a better way.  The bigger family room, the yard off the kitchen, the open spaces and parks and lakes around us, all make spending time together easier, more relaxed, more enjoyable. 

That said, it is still the burbs.  We got the local newspaper a few days ago, and the cover story complained mightily about property taxes going up by a whole $100 over five years just to fund education, of all things.  Those bandits in the liberal congress dare charge us to provide a good education to our kids?  The outrage.  And most vehicles in our neighborhood are GINORMOUS SUVs, with American flags flying from the hoods and Jesus fish swimming along back bumpers.  Eric and I have a bet going about when we'll see our first confederate flag or pickaninny lawn jockey.

The people on our cul-de-sac are extremely nice.  They've all told us what a great place this is to raise kids, and they seem genuinely pleased that we've moved into this house.  But what if we had been a couple of color?  If we flew atheist flags from the hood of the Hyundai?  Or painted the house a lovely shade of lavender?  Tough to know. 

This post has taken me eons to write, what with all the staring out the window I've been doing.  The new dishwasher is about to be delivered, and I'm off to pick up a double jogger, a steal from Craig's List.  Perhaps this will be what unites us most clearly with our new neighbors:  our consumerism.  The Whirlpools, the Subarus, the Gap bags.  Maybe we're not so different as we think.