A Mist on the Horizon

  So, there I was this week, starting to pack bits and pieces. I had been collecting some boxes for quite some time. so I am grouping, and piling things together. "Storage stack" and a, "new place" stack, a "throw out" stack and a "donate stack." I go through shifts of emotion. A bit of excitement, a bit of acceptance, a bit of melancholy and even...sadness.
  The excitement is rendered from freedom. I can pick up, pack up, and go at my own free will. My decision affects no one. I can look forward to monetary savings and say to myself, "yea, I'll be able to get my hair done when it NEEDS it. Not when I can AFFORD it. I can have an occasional drink out with the girls and maybe not let the brain operate like a cash register in overtime. My housemate and I should get along well. A new friend.
  Acceptance bears weight inside me, I see this period in my life for what it is. A growth, a path to gaining my goal of owning my own place again. Acceptance that downsizing is common for many people, and thank God, I have the strength and energy to accomplish what  I need. Life is about to change, again.
  Melancholy, of course sorting possessions reminds you of where the item was purchased, with who, why, and should I get rid of it? I am purposefully ridding myself of many things, though I did do that last year upon my move to my townhouse, out of that ole' little town, of where I lived for 34 years.
  Sadness takes a shift on occasion, as I sort. I ran across the wedding album the ex had printed in a book from our wedding pictures. I remember how proud he was of that. He took it to his Rotary and work to show it off. So, I went through the book and cut out a few of my favorite pages. Most of them were shots with my children in them. Only two were saved as a memento from that day. One is of me and the ex during the vow portion. He looked at me with such love. Big smiles, etc... It is a part of my history. It is gone, but these few pages will be tucked away, just like my first wedding album. It is pages from my history book. They can be accessed if needed or forgotten about, until the next move. I get sad because I wish I could afford this place. It has been perfect for me this last year. It is stylish. It has been welcoming and comfortable. But, the new house is too. Roomie has good taste.
  It is Sunday morning and I worked like a horse yesterday. I am amazed at how much I got done in packing. I even started cleaning out shelves, etc..and wiping them out. The second bathroom is almost spic and span. I see light at the end of my closet tunnel. Good for me.
  So, Derek just left and has met someone else, and she said she has had a crush on him for a few months. He is interested in pursuing this woman. Good for him. He has been ready for someone to return his love. Just like my poem says, I couldn't give yet.There is a mist of sadness on this horizon with him. The non relationship has changed even more. It will be less. I am holding a piece of broken glass. But the cut is minor. I kept that tinfoil on my heart for a reason. I'd be heart broken now, if I hadn't. I am glad I allowed my guts to be strong through these last several months with Derek. I had a sense of "knowing", of paying attention to that little instinct inside my heart and guts. We helped each other grow in personal, important ways.