It's A Sign

From my Free Will Astrology horoscope for this week:

"There is a proverb from the American culture of the 21st century that I'd like to run by you: 'Never reveal all you know, confess everything you feel, show how much you care, or give all you have.'

Prove this proverb wrong. Cultivate power by revealing all you know, confessing everything you feel, showing how much you care, and giving all you have."

I have been sick of hearing my own voice in my head for the past week. Sick of writing about the drama of the move, the lack of housing, woe-is-me diatribes that are getting old, quick. When someone comments, "What happened now?" on a random Facebook post, that is a clear sign from the universe that pretty much everyone else is done with it also.

So it is odd to see this horoscope today. Not that I make all of my decisions based on astrology, or even most of them, or even any appreciable fraction of them, but on occasion I will experiment and use this particular horoscope site to guide me. Just because sometimes it feels good to not have to make the decisions All. Of. The. Time. To have a break.

This is probably the same thing that religious people do when they say, "Let go and let God," but I am not there by a long stretch. I prefer my voodoo to be inclusive and not the reason for mass slaughter throughout history, which is why organized religion and I are not friends. So when I look for guidance outside of myself, I see what Rob Breszny has to say first. Sometimes I ask a question and open a book with my eyes closed and point to a sentence in the book and treat that sentence as the answer. Or sometimes I use random tweets or instagrams or reblogs as a "sign" of sorts. Anything to avoid, even briefly, making another decision that could possibly be the wrong one. Or making a decision, period.

That being said, all signs are pointing in one direction. I think the time has come to move outward. Every time I think of my own issues these days, I think in my head, "Is this ebola-level bad? Or Gaza Strip-level horrific? Or shot in the street because of the color of your skin and an enduring history of racism that has been swept under the rug-level heinous? " It's perspective. Always helpful. It's time to re-visit the cultivation of gratitude, like the 100 Happy Days project. It's time to give more than I have been receiving, in a tangible way.

I don't know what this means yet, but I am working towards something bigger and more than what's happening in my tiny little life now. I think I am ready.

(Image)

19 Hours

(This picture is deceptive)

19 hours.

This is how long it took for us to go from Tybee Island, Georgia to Baltimore, Maryland yesterday, and we are not in Baltimore yet.

Say what?

Sicily pointed out as our drive began to go downhill that in her time on this earth, we have had four major moves, and each move has been disastrous.

Move 1: Seattle to Georgia. All our stuff was stolen.

Move 2: Marietta to our "dream" house on 5 acres. Someone broke into our house. Stuff was stolen.

Move 3: Out of "dream" house back to the townhouse. Dane died.

So here we are, move 4: Georgia to Baltimore.

If this had not happened to us, if someone else was writing this or telling me the story, I would not believe it.

First, the cargo platform we had installed on the Cube dragged on the ground. Turns out, a Cube is pretty much only capable of carrying what you can cram into it. The guy who installed the cargo platform drove to Atlanta to pick up the correct roof rack and installed that, removing the hitch receiver. We waited for four hours in a shop with two dogs and a cat.

This was, in fact, the highlight of the move.

Minus the brief sojourn in Tybee, which was lovely. If we had not had that, I am not sure how I would have handled yesterday.

I will cut to the chase. We spent 12 hours getting to Baltimore to our rental house, where our electronic key didn't work. Called the landlord. No love. Best friend out of town, so no house there. Called and texted the landlord again. No answer. Called Nana. Woke her up. She said come on up (she lives 1 1/2 hours from Baltimore). Time: 10:25 p.m.

Hop on the highway, get 15 minutes from the house, landlord calls. Says oh-gosh-sorry-house-manager-didn't-reset-code-try-again. Turn around. Drive 15 minutes back to house. Code works. Pile into the house. Unload car.

Start feeling queasy. Start sniffing in. Realize that the house REEKS of gas. Sicily starts feeling queasy. Text landlord. Landlord says It-should-be-fine. It is patently not.

Book dog-friendly hotel, 25 minutes from rental house. At the tone the time will be: 11:44. BEEP.

Drive down to hotel. Hotel has no record of our reservation. Search, search, search. Travelocity website hold time is one hour, 15 minutes.

Did I mention that in all of this driving, the car is getting 20 miles a gallon so we have to stop every 200 miles to fill up? And that is has rained the entire trip and is currently raining?

Call Nana in tears at 1 a.m. We are coming, we say.

We of course have to stop and get gas.

Did I mention that all I had eaten at this point was jellybeans and Cheetos, plus a handful of fries?

Pulled into West Grove, PA at 2:30 in the morning. Crashed liked dead people around 3:30.

Woke up to a text this morning that there was, in fact, a gas leak. The landlord was actually very, very nice, but the house in uninhabitable at this point. So we have no place to live.

At least no one died in this move. Maybe we have broken the streak. #Perspective

But GODDAMN, universe. Really?

I can say unequivocally, though, that we have the best animals on the planet, and that my kid is the best kid in the whole wide world. And I don't care what you say. She just is. She folded her long legs into two square feet of space in the front, wrangled the dogs and the cat, never complained not even once. Seriously. At one point the absurdity of the whole situation struck us and we started laughing. What else can you do?

So this week should be interesting.