This is evening numero eight in our new house and we are tired. And uncomfortable.
First, let’s just be clear: I’m a very, very lucky girl. Very lucky. And I know it and I’m beyond grateful for the good things happening in my life.
Now that you don’t think I’m ungrateful, I’m going to bitch.
This process has been rough. I’m not a crier, and I’ve been crying on and off all week. I’m not hormonal. I’m overwhelmed.
Leaving the townhouse was really emotional for me. There were a lot of beautiful memories tied up in that place. Plus it was familiar, it was comfortable, it was my home. Leaving it was solid, irrefutable proof that my entire life is changing in enormous ways. And I’m not ready for it to change. I loved living in that little townhouse, just me, my boy and my dog. It was bliss. I so dearly loved that phase of my life.
Now I’m in this big, empty place, and it doesn’t feel like home AT ALL. I suspect it’s partially because the largest space in the house is bare-ass empty. And there are no curtains, very few blinds, no photos, no decorations – there’s nothing that indicates we’re doing anything here other than squatting.
We’re working on that, though. But first, before we started in on the new place, we had to get the townhouse in good shape, which involved daily trips over there to paint, sand and scrub.
And we still have to unpack the dozens and dozens of boxes waiting for us in the garage. Allan has a goal to park in there come February 1, and right now it’s overloaded with boxes. There will be no parking anytime soon.
Plus, we’re finding that at least 25% of those boxes contain stuff that we don’t actually want anymore. There’s a lot of sorting in our future.
Although we still live in a suburb of Raleigh, it’s not close to our old life. We’re very familiar with this area – and it’s a great area – but it still seems foreign to me. Yesterday we had to venture through our old neighborhood to run some errands, and I was so happy to be near those street signs and landmarks and grocery stores – I felt such relief.
We’re not even sleeping well. It still feels like we’re sleeping in a place that’s not ours. You know how you can go to a friend’s house and know where the bathroom is and the towels are and where to find the snacks, but it’s not yours? That’s how we feel. We can’t fully relax, and because we’ve been so incredibly busy AND unable to relax, we’re just walking zombies.
We’re walking zombies with a giant dog attached to our hips because Murphy isn’t comfortable, either. He’s having a hard time adjusting and is having some anxiety/attachment issues right now. Like, when Allan leaves the house to go run an errand, Murphy cries at the window.
That’s one dog situation, but there’s another. And oh, I hate it. I hate it to the core of my being.
We’re on the last street of this community. Our yard and the yards of our neighbors (five houses on this street total) butt up against a 2+ acre piece of land, so we don’t have any houses in our backyard, which is really nice.
But there’s a dog back there.
A big, old (or just dirty?), shaggy dog. He lives in a small pen. Which is overgrown with weeds. And he is never let out. Since we moved into the house, the weather has been awful – grey, cold, windy, rainy, very little sun. And he’s been outside in all of it. He cries a lot. Is it because he’s hungry? Thirsty? Cold? All of the above? It breaks my heart. I hear him cry and actually beg him to stop. Please, please, please stop crying. I say this out loud in my bedroom or living room or any room in my house from which I can hear him. But he can’t hear me begging him to stop.
I get that we moved to the country and that in the country – and in the South – some people treat their dogs as if they are just that: dogs. But as far as I’m concerned, they’re abusing that dog.
What the hell is the point of having a dog outside in a pen? Why? What do you get out of that? And what kind of life is that for the dog?
Allan said to mind my own business, that it doesn’t have a direct impact on me. Except that it does. I live here now. There is another family that lives here now. And in a few months, there will be three other families living here. The dog cries basically straight through from 7am through 8:30am – I’m assuming because he’s hungry – and it wakes me up. It wakes Allan up. I suspect it wakes our neighbors up. So, you see, it is my business now. And when I have a sleeping newborn, it will very much be my business.
I care far less about the sleep than I do the dog, but it’s my in, you see. It’s my excuse to call animal control and demand that they check on the situation. And I will call.
That situation is contributing a whole lot to my discomfort – I literally wake up every morning with an aching heart.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering, yes, I knew about the dog during construction. Except I thought the dog was only outside when the people at that property weren’t home – I didn’t realize how overgrown the enclosure was, and didn’t realize that you often can’t see the dog.
I really don’t mean to seem so ungrateful. The house is wonderful. When it’s unpacked and decorated and has furniture, it will be even more wonderful.
But I’m overwhelmed.