for the love of gravity..

Ok. So I guess I have some explaining to do. I have been absent for the usual reasons, cloudy minded days, nights, breaths and everything in between. Uncontrollable crying for such husbandly offenses as asking where the duck tape was last seen, posing unanswerable student loan consolidation questions or offers to book me an appointment for a massage. What an evil man I live with. I have been living my life aboard the Cyclone since the day before we flew to Palm Harbor for Papa's Memorial Service. What could have lashed me to this roller coaster of emotions? Grief? Maybe. Fatigue ? More than likely..but there is yet another catalyst. We are leaving Brooklyn.
Yes, I know.. we just got here. Yes, I know... we do love it here. No, I am not really ready to leave. What's that? More grown up decision making among the Shinglers of Greenwood Heights? Indeed.
Short Version:
Literally the night that we are packing to leave the next morning to head to Florida for the service, Stephen gets a call from our pal N. Skiles informing us that he has been offered a better job at Ringling (Stephen's Undergraduate School where Nathan is currently working Stephen's dream job.. we were very happy for him when he got it)... he has called to say that he has recommended Stephen as his successor and Mark (Fine Arts Department Head and Stephen's former sculpture teacher) is enthusiastic and would love it if Stephen could drive over while we are down there (?!?!!!!??!) Say again ? Stephen work for Ringling? In... Sarasota Florida ??? Too good to be true. Maybe not. Stephen goes out for a beer with Mark and boys - "If you want it.. you are the man for the job." Done. Family, ecstatic at our pending return to the area. Me, ecstatic at the chance to start a family with Stephen as the man in charge and bread winning father. Cut to the present: Collegiate bureaucratic red tape. 99.999% sure that Stephen has the job but still having to wait to negotiate a living wage ... waiting and waiting and waiting.
So there you have it.... our latest drama. My latest drama. Stephen floats along rolling with punches while I feel as though the rug I was standing on was yanked out from under me by an angry primate. Suddenly nothing is certain. Will we go? Stay? If go, where will we live ? We need a car now... what should we get? What can we afford? When? How? What kind of job will I have to take this time? How many interviews will I go on.. ? When can we start trying for a baby? Externally I say "One day at a time! There's nothing I can do about it so I just try not to think about it." Internally my mind works itself into a frenzy - I watch back to back movies and the ENTIRE season of Heros in one sitting. Gotta keep that voice in my head quiet long enough to get some sleep.
Try to sleep - no good. My mind stays awake while my body drifts to sleep - I am consciously aware that I can not move... I am in the dark and I can not breath at will .. my ears are ringing.. I think " I am dying and I need to tell Stephen that I am dying " I can't move to wake myself up. I worry that no one will know what happened to me. My house is too dirty to die. I desperately will myself to move and I wake up with a jolt and a cry. This happened 3 more times that night. Good LORD Sarah!!!!! Take it easy why doncha ?!?!? Apparently my subconscious does not know what to do when it doesn't have at least one aspect of the present existence nailed down. It goes haywire.
I am haywire. I can't even tell you what the job entails because I can't get into that much detail because there is still that .0000001% chance that this is all a cruel cosmic joke and we are destined to remain here in our beloved Brooklyn abode for another year as previously planned. That would be ok. I am not even ready to talk about how much I will miss my life here. For that matter, I am not ready to talk about how excited I am at the prospect of a new life in Sarasota. At this moment, all I can do is let you guys know that I am up here at the top of the Cyclone, ready to rush down and back up again at any moment. Clinging to my flimsy seatbelt and trying to keep it together. Waiting for that finalizing phone call to bring me back to earth so that I can begin to celebrate our choice to take the family direction.. and leave our solo New York life behind. Your prayers are desperately desired by this pathetic brunette... who was never meant to be an astronaut.