Itch

That itch you cannot scratch. It sits on the back of your next, just below the base and there is no consistency. It isn’t a one and done, something you can find a handy pen to take care of. This is a slow build. You might slap at the spot hoping to take care of it quickly, only to have it shift a millimeters space diagonally to slowly draw your concentration away from whatever meaningless thing you are doing. Off and on it comes and goes with varying intensity until you are twitchy, anticipating where it may land next.

Life has those moments as well. In the last month I’ve been feeling antsy. Not that anything specifically is coming, but like that elusive itch on the back of your neck I find myself shrugging my shoulders more, fits of cleaning and distracted by shadows just out of the corner of my eye.

It hasn’t quite been a week since I put Gracie down and I’m still having trouble sleeping. I’ve been hoping to wear myself out, but I’m not quite there I suppose. It could also be the amount of coffee I’m drinking on a regular basis just to keep myself moving. I’ve been vacuuming and sweeping like a fiend though. I think I put aside how many oops’s the girls had in what is my office. I’ve vacuumed and febreezed the hell out of it, and yet there is a unmistakable stain. Luckily my sister has a steaming rug cleaner to bring over. I honestly just don’t know how they managed to get it under the several mats I had down. I’m still sweeping up cat fur, and quite honestly I have no idea how it got into some of the place it did either.

But as I go through this minor (let’s face it, it’s me) cleaning phase I realize that several of the things I have brought with me from Louisville are leaving. The girls are gone and I’m getting ready to sell the house (oh please please please let me sell that house). Most of the bigger stuff (please don’t take the car) is already gone and now I’m just about ready to sweep everything but the memories and friendships out from my life.

It’s a slow process it seems, however. Small steps and sometimes doubling back to insure I haven’t lost anything, forgotten a small piece of debris that I’m trying to shake from my surroundings. I’ve been talking to my property manager for months about selling the house. This last week I was finally met with a sense of action but note I’m waiting again.

What is that curse again? ‘May you live in interesting times’. While I’m not looking for the whole excitement, I wouldn’t be upset if this particular cycle ended a little faster.