The wait is killing me. I may be in the morgue by morning, if S. has not received word from her NGO about the disaster response position in Bangkok. Call me reactive, even histrionic, if you will, but I definitely don’t deal well with the indefinite. I want to know where we’ll be six months from now, who will live in our house over the next year, when I can let my university know I may not be teaching in the fall. I want a lot, for sure, but I feel nearly paralyzed by the uncertainty.
I did manage to take down our Christmas tree this morning, pack up most of our ornaments, and drag what’s left of the decidedly dead douglas fir to the curb–a carpet of needles marking its path to roadside cemetery. And let me assure you that the effort to do even that much seemed enormous, as I fought lethargy to place each ornament in its box, each box in its bin, and each bin upstairs in the guest room until S. can help me stash them in the attic.
School starts a week from today, so I should certainly be preparing my syllabus. I should be making reservations for my students to visit the library and contacting the volunteer coordinator from the non-profit my classes will be working with this semester as part of a service learning project. I should be doing a lot, but I am, in fact, doing very little in that regard. The uncertainty about our future leaves me lethargic and lacking motivation to move forward with life as we currently know it. I crave the upcoming challenge, so much that the logistics of life in Lexington feel unappealing and insignificant–especially compared to the potentially exotic that could be our not so distant future.
Certainly I’ll survive until we know something definite. But, alas, I don’t like it one bit, so forgive me if I bitch and moan and whine. My attitude will improve; I promise.