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Giving Up
July 11, 2005 | Category: In My Life
We bought a fixer-upper and rolled up our sleeves with a 5-year plan, money in the bank, and a new baby on my hip.
In the 4.5 years since, we have started and stopped a thousand times, always keeping things as orderly and pretty as we could in the meantime. After all, this isn't just a job site - it's our home.
So even in the darkest days, somehow we managed to keep most things tended: lawn mowed, plants trimmed, paint fresh, pictures hung and squared on the wall, buckets and baskets to hold the piles of things that didn't have any other home.
But to look around now is to see tall weeds in the unmown lawn, grass growing in the cracks of the driveway, scattered mess and piles, and only a token effort made at keeping it all under control.
My doctor asked me to take a long look at what was going on in my life. She says that my heart is strong, and that my spirit is, too. But she says that my blood pressure is telling a frightening story. One that shouts "there are no reserves!"
She compared it to people who live paycheck to paycheck - there is just no "float" for emergencies, so they build up the debts on credit cards in order to get through the unexpected things you can depend will come regularly rampaging through life.
That is what is going on with my health. I am running on minimum tolerances and so with every crisis, every bad day - I borrow from my future in order to find the strength to last the day.
I am, slowly, damaging myself.
I look around this house and know what she says is true. There is no stretch of space in the home where you can rest your eyes. The chaos reaches every corner, and leeches from soul.
I have given up.
I now know that it will be years before I have a kitchen that would hold all my dishes, much less have room for pots and pans. I now know that it will be years before I have a closet that could hold my vacuum cleaner (so it will stay in the corner of my dining room).
All that energy, that hope, that time, I once had to get me from here to there is depleted.
I know this house has great "bones" and gorgeous woodwork, stained glass and a working fireplace. I know that it has brilliant possibilities. That the neighborhood is lovely, that the location can not be beat.
To give up and walk away would be to leave behind so much in dreams and possibilities - not the least to walk away from possible return on investment. To sell it in the state it is in now would be to take a loss.
But my body and soul are screaming out. This life I have is not working, and something must be done to bring serenity back, to refill my reserves.
So I dream of a house with closet space. I dream of a home that doesn't take my husband away from Bear and I in endless work. I dream of going wild with new recipes, and cooking without having to factor in twice the time just to dig through all the nooks and crannies for the right tools. I dream of floors new enough that you can get them clean. I dream of weekend hours spent any way we want, without the crushing reality of desperate projects that need doing before winter comes.
And although I love this place, I do - I dream of someplace else. And sleep with a smile.
Everyone tells me how stupid I would be to walk away from this house.
But I don't know how to stay.
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