I’ve not been sharing a part of my life with you. (I don’t share a lot of my life in these posts, but that’s just to spare you the boring minutiae that is my world.) I’ve chosen to keep quiet about certain goings-on, in hopes of keeping the goings going on.
You see, Mister and I are on the verge of another move. That’s right – we’re moving again. Soon. And there are about a jillion details to tend and a jillion hoops through which somebody’s got to jump. Right now, just call us “Somebody.”
I keep waiting to feel excited. Because y’all, honestly, I don’t feel it yet. Maybe it’s all the paperwork. Maybe it’s all the negotiations. Whatever the reason, I’ve not yet crossed over to that place of “yippee.” Instead, I’m in the state of Hand-Wringing, its capital city being South-What-the-Frick.
When I was a flight attendant, I learned to never count on that trip taking place until the wheels were up. I could be on a fully-loaded plane, doors closed and pulling back from the gate and it still didn’t matter. That plane could be brought right back to the gate for some reason or another. Heck, I’ve been on planes that have actually taken off, only to turn right around and land at the airport again. Why? Various reasons, but there was always one common factor: the wheels weren’t up. Since learning this lesson, I’ve kept it in mind when traveling by plane. To this day, Mister and I know that until the plane takes off and the wheels are up, we’re not for sure going on that trip. It isn’t cynical. It’s real.
Anyhoo, back to the moving front. As we don’t yet have keys in hand, I guess I just haven’t allowed myself to get excited yet. The wheels aren’t up. We’re on the plane, on the runway. Our belongings are packed. Seatbelts are buckled. But the danged wheels just aren’t up, y’all.
I’ve got one week to go on this runway. Seven days. I do hope this plane takes off. I’m so ready to get where I’m going…