I was trying to think of something different to post about.
Sometimes the well is just dry.
I did have a few things I was thinking about.
It was 21 years ago tomorrow that my wife and I spent our first night in this old house.
So many things have happened since then; some wonderful while others not so wonderful. But we’re still here in this place I warmly think of as my own personal Money Pit. But it’s ours…for right now.
I still remember my wife’s reaction during her first visit to the “new” house—sans furniture. She stood in what’s now the living room and watched me painting the ceiling.
There was this strange silence as she slowly scanned the bare walls and uncovered hardwood floors.
I can always tell when she’s about to cry because her nose does this unique little wrinkly thing and it’s usually not long after that the rain begins to fall.
She started crying and simply said three words that made me weak in the knees: I hate it.
I could only think of two words: Oh, shit.
What do you say to a woman on the verge of losing every single one of her emotional marbles?
Ultimately, everything worked out and we’re still here and filling the place with memories on a daily basis.
The other thought on my mind is a bit more intangible, but maybe it’s not the right venue for the blog. Essentially, it involves my own personal destiny and place in the world and the life in which I live.
I envy people that possess that clear sense of purpose.
They just seem to know. Or do they?
For me, the answers I seek are like elusive obsidian butterflies, impossibilities and incongruities that weave their way in and out of the tapestry of my days.
I wish there were some celestial hotline: “for personal destiny, press 4, for lottery inquiries, press 777 and good luck…”
What was I put here on earth to do?
Why do some days seem so desperately incalculable and unending?
Am I suicidal?
Please. No reservations have been made at the Chateau Eternity for me yet.
Am I depressed?
I say no, but my heart says something very different. It’s still in search of something I can’t quite figure out.
So I write. And write. And write.
Praying that in the process, I’ll discover that I’ve had the answers inside me all along.
Then again, maybe it’s just the rumblings of my impending mid-life crisis.
Lord knows, I deserve one but I’ve yet to feel the hankering for a brand new Porsche and a 20-something blonde bombshell…