Dusting

I've been hiding.  Hiding from what, I am not sure, but it has caused me to not write here.  Tomorrow morning I will rise at 3 am and drive with Husby to his Mom's; who in turn will drive us to the airport, to fly to the desert.   In the rain.

We must finish packing, loading and moving Dad's valuables (and all my crap) out of his house and bring it home with us.  It will be raining.  It will be windy, and we will be in a 17' U-Haul going over the Grapevine, to come home sometime in the following 48 hours.  There is nothing about this trip that has me enthused, save for staying with dear family friends who cook very well.   Though I have a feeling we will just order pizza, to save time.

I don't want to say goodbye to his home.  I don't want to box away memories.  I don't want to forget anything.  I don't want the responsibility.  I don't want the ache that is in my chest that twists and twangs every time I think about it.

I don't like feeling rushed, and that is all I feel.  Rushed and pressured.  And my coffee table is dusty and has Chloe fur floating across it's lower shelf.  (Now I must dust.  Because I do not want to pack.  Because that will make tomorrow's trip that much more of a reality.  And I would rather hide.  Or dust.)

I don't want to call him from his desk in the nook and ask him if the green paper is more imporant than the white, and what should I do with it.  I don't want to go through his belongings with a fine-toothed comb.  There are mysteries and secrets, hidden away in dresser drawers and tucked up on shelves that I don't want to discover.  Sometimes I hate being a Virgo.

I have laundry to switch over, and I need to warm my feet.  Perhaps I need a cup of tea.  Then I can pack and scour and clean and dust and vacuum.  I want to come home to a refuge- not refuse.  I want to come home.  And I am already here, yet all I can think about is how I will not be, tomorrow.  Tomorrow I will be there- which was home, but no longer is.  And sometimes, this doesn't feel much like home, either.  I am lost and homeless and will soon be orphaned, and I would like to hide now- in the comfort of chores and cleaning and domestic distractions of a finite nature.  Maybe Husby needs shirts ironed.