My Little Golden Book of Phobias

The house on the very street where I want to live was awful, weird yard, cheap upgrades, ants (!) and the best of all, they converted the garage into a master bedroom so the French doors from the bedroom open on to the driveway. If the blinds are open, you see your...car? Uh, so no. No basement, no possibilities for a MIL for when I'm decrepit and someone lives with me and carries me around.

Still. I walk around looking at everything here. The basement needs to be emptied. Not much down there except dust and the litter boxes. The garage, oh boy.

I've moved out over and over, unhooking from the house, the neighbors, the neighborhood.

I talked to my brother yesterday. In among the patter, I mentioned the period of time when I was homeless after our mother had throw me out. He said he and my other sibs were never told what happened to me. He hadn't know until about 10 years ago. We don't ever feel safe. He fusses about money all the time. He worries that my sister and I will need watching over and he'll need to support us. Legacy of anxiety.

So selling this house, cumbersome as it is, feels ok right now because I'm choosing to sell it. No one is forcing me to leave, taking what I can carry with me. Ug.

Yesterday, while walking in Seward Park, a place of eagles and old growth trees. it was crashing rain with sudden sunlight. So beautiful, the wet branches and buds on the deciduous trees through the top of the park. By the water, I caught a little hawk landing on a branch. As the sun warmed us, she opened her wings and spread her tail to dry her feathers.

My car is making a strange clunking sound when it changes gears. Uh-oh. I wish it would magically fix itself. Probably not going to happen.