Goddess Help any Bastard

Moving sucks.  It makes you feel itchy on every level.  Even physically. D woke up this morning, and we shared the same complaint with each other: we had slept poorly because we were itchy.  We had had long-overdue haircuts, but this doesn't explain the total experience.  We itched.  All night long.  And woke far more times than normal.... and normal with an infant, two adults, and two snoring cats in a queen bed, is an interesting stretch of that word.  "Normal".

Our whole life is now in boxes.  We both had a few days off from school, and, as a result, what we had chipped away at over the last month, box, after shredder load, after box, has become a full plastic- plates- only, every- corner-, cupboard- and drawer- in- a- box-, tote-, bag-, or crate-, experience.  It's a hot mess, to use the overused.  We own a lot.  None of it--or at least, most of it; we deleted what we could already, and are still choking--ought to be disposed of.  These are how many things a citizen of the Western world" needs."  How do nomads, bedouins, and gypsys do it?  How do they, turtle-style, carry all posessions at all times?  Everything itches. I'm going mad.  Clean cup--move down! And I'm about to add a whole work week of two- hour- a- day driving in the mix before I can even begin to unpack all these carefully labelled, artful arranged, delicately handled many packages.  And, my period is due.  Goddess help any bastard who gets in my way....

At least I got to see my kid's first, very few steps this long weekend.  Goddess pities this poor bastard.

Sweat into What is Still Someone Else's Equity

I painted with nice high toxin paint today.  And sanded and chipped off lead paint too.  I did this in the name of having my house.  I ended up at times slapping paint around, sending wild  splashes of it into the soil and landscaping, and unraked leaves at this house too.  It was not a good time to have to do as much exterior painting as was required to satisfy the terms of our mortgage.  And we had only the one day to work with, as the seller was resistant to doing much more than partially funding the supplies for the project.  All I can say is that after giving six hours to it, with five of us working, I'm not sure how I'll put myself together again if I don't have keys in two weeks like I'm supposed to.  The house genuinely looks better at least.  This was a weird snag, weirder than many of the bumps I've heard of when it comes to the things people go through on their road to renting a house from a bank (it's weird to think of this as homeownership:  I'll own it before I'm 70...but not by much).  But we-- and me especially--achieve everything only after many setbacks, forks, pitfalls, and deathtraps.  I had hoped somehow we were lucky because we looked at only a dozen or so houses, found this one so quickly after it was listed.  This really has to be the only twist.  I can't take having something else I've invested so much of myself in taken again.  I'm not sure there are pharmaceuticals that can even take the edge off the sort of despondency that will lead to.