Anyway. After years of looking, we've finally found, offered on, and purchased, a house. That we're going to move to. In a whole different town. I won't be able to walk to the library with my eyes closed*. I can't tell you, down to the minute, how long it will take me to run out and get milk. I won't know which streets to avoid when I go for a walk because they get overly muddy when it rains.
But. I will have room to spread out a bit. My kids will have their first little bit of privacy. Husband will have somewhere to noodle around on his guitar that won't drive me insane. He'll finally be able to put up his Star Wars movie posters. We'll all fit in the kitchen at the same time. It's going to be good.
But. We'll be leaving Grandma. We'll be leaving the school the kids love with all the people they know.
But. We'll be moving to my parents and sister. They'll have new opportunities and make new friends. Our "adventure walks" will, at first, be an actual adventure.
And this is the loop that started running in my head around 2am as I lay with my eyes squeezed shut, desperately willing myself to just go the hell to sleep. For every positive, up popped a negative.
Anyway. In an effort to try and curb the anxiety and focus on something that actually needs doing, instead of all this needless worrying, I thought I'd get started packing. But even that seems overwhelming. We're not actually moving until June, so we can only pack things that we probably won't need until then. And if we won't need it for a few months, then do we really need it? Now I have to start culling and sorting. This is obviously not working.
I need something easier. I'm going to get started picking paint colours. Should be a total breeze, right?
*Well, while reading, really... but it amounts to the same thing.