If something good happens it can all get wiped away in a nanosecond if someone you love has a health crisis. We sold our house and we had a few hours of rejoicing before our beloved cat Morgan broke her leg. *bangs head on table* I didn’t get the nice happy pills she did so I’m taking it harder. She is doing well. She’s not active which is good. She doesn’t bother the splint wrapping. No chewing or excessive licking to get it off. Because of that she is getting very long breaks without the cone of shame. That incident wiped out all the good I felt and I had to rebuild. You know when you wake up in the morning and for three seconds you feel great? Then you remember all that is going on and the pit in your stomach returns. Yeah, that’s it.
Moving is work. The packing isn’t the worst, it’s the decisions on what to keep or toss. I thought I had been cleaning out over the past five years. Whatever I did was not near enough. Clothing is easier because you love it or you don’t. It fits or it doesn’t. What is tough are those things that “might” work at the next house. My next house is a pine box so I can be more ruthless this round.
It’s easy to fall into a pity party. I can do a litany of bad things that have happened since September (which seemed to be our turning point of good luck to bad). I can’t forget we are healthy and covid-free (so far); we found a home we both love; and we sold our home in record time. I also can’t forget that Gracie’s bad tooth and Morgan’s broken leg were both fixable. So were the health issues the humans had. No deaths. Nothing terminal. Cause for celebration but it’s cautious celebration. I don’t want to wake up the genie that’s sleeping in the pot.