Climbing metaphorical mountains

I miss my best friend. Talking on the phone isn’t the same as dropping by. I miss New York in summer–always its best season. I miss feeling so comfortable in my place I can complain bitterly about everything.

That isn’t to say I’m not happy here. I was a New Yorker all my life and now I’m not. To deny that takes adjusting would be foolish.

I bought a recumbent Schwinn stationary bike that is a hypochondriac’s delight as it tells you your heart beat and whether or not it’s in the right zone. It even tells you if you’re in shape or not. It almost feels as if it exercises for you.

It’s just different enough from riding a bike to make me long for a mountain bike that I will buy come fall. I have always loved the repetitive foot motions in bike riding. It makes me zone out and mediate I guess.

I began writing an article for sale on shaking up my life by moving from New York to North Myrtle. Then I realized that it’s in incredibly poor taste to write about buying a house this year.

I have climbed personal mountains but my mother always said I had the worst timing. If I lost a job and foreclosed on my home it would be more in vogue. I realize how whiny this sounds but….

I reached a plateau-going-off-the-meds-wise. This isn’t depressing as I think I have done incredibly well but hell it ain’t heroin, crack or even pain killers. Just the single most difficult anti panic attack drug to withdraw from but really it’s nothing

That’s kind of the way I feel about myself right now. In a slump. I’m not the super strong wonderful woman people keep saying I am. If I were I would know how to fix my back deck hose. I would have more flashlights and lights that actually worked in my back deck.

The other night I had company and just after dark we heard what sounded like a water pipe bursting. It was the frigging garden hose as I couldn’t turn the spigot all the way off–neither could any other woman who tried. Actually it was pretty funny as we all ended up soaking wet. Since the temperature was well into the 80’s nobody really cared.

I made “irregular grounds” that looked like nothing into an incredible winding outsidedeck with two dining areas, a living room and just chaises for now. Between my second floor deck and the deck that wraps around the house my outside room the square footage is twice the size of my Upper West Side coop.

The only thing I have left to furnish is the sun room and I’m waiting for the wicker store to go on sale when I will scoop in and furnish it in two seconds. I want an all white room in an otherwise color filled house.

Oh yes I do feel better about myself. I love having a house with a staircase and a small kitchen that is still large enough to cook in. The house leaves a small footprint so why do I even care about justifying my purchase? Or how do I write this article so that I’m a sympathetic character? Never have been great at that. I don’t come off humble enough and yet I’m so apologetic etc.

Neighbors ask for tours of the house which cracks me. In New York it would be quirky normal. In September I’m having an open house for EldonOne and Jimbo–so they can invite prospective clients, and the people who work in town and always asked to see pictures can come over. It feels strange to have a house that’s considered so “showable.” I hope that people don’t think me unfeeling to have renovated it this past year. I couldn’t live in the house the way it was, I did help the economy and I’m sick of justifying this purchase and renovation.

If I climb metaphorical mountains in the wrong year have I still climbed mountains?

I can’t wait until tomorrow when the sun will shine and I will spend the entire day at the beach and think about nothing more pressing than how lovely the waves are. Someday I will learn to write again. I don’t know what’s happened to the one thing I always felt I could do better than most. I think just about everybody writes better than I do and is more interesting. I hope that this is just the pre-September blues, and I will wake up one morning in mid September all psyched about my writing again. I hope that more than anything except for health care reform passing.

I was going to take this post down as I didn’t like it. Then I read it again and I must say I can write. I think it’s blogging I find depressing as I began, pretty much, at the top and always knew I couldn’t sustain that. I think I would rather write for the sake of writing and maybe being published than trying to write posts. I feel the last call, last chance bell ringing/clock ticking something furious.