Come to think of it, I've never seen elephants piling into a Volkswagen either, and frankly I just can't imagine it. Just like I can't imagine how I'm going to take all the crap that has burst forth from my cabinets to turn my entire house into a Land of the Giants storage closet and somehow shove it all back into small enclosed spaces that are even smaller than the ones that hid the crap to begin with. And no matter how much stuff I toss out, the piles in the house just keep growing. Twenty years worth of messes and junk and complete disarray, and still, pesky and useless as all of it is, I have a hard time parting with most of it.
The good news is the whole issue might soon be moot. The attorney handling our real estate sale has gone AWOL. That's okay, though, because my real estate broker cannot figure out how to send our attorney a copy of the contract, and the buyers are getting feisty and impatient. I cannot pull the trigger on a rental until I know the sale of the house is a done deal, but that's okay because waiting for a rental application to be approved is like waiting for college acceptance letters, even worse because the entire process encourages unseemly begging. If things keep going -- or not going -- the way they are, I might just not have to deal with fitting the elephants into smaller cabinets. I might just have to shove them back into the old ones. Sort of like shoving a newborn back into the birth canal. I'm not a doctor, but honestly, how hard can it be?
Well thank goodness there's the job search to lift my spirits. On second thought, that's an elephant in the room I'd prefer not to think about. A friend suggested I send him my resume yesterday, thinking maybe he could pass it on. I tossed one together immediately, and forwarded it to him. His response was gentle, but I could almost hear him snickering. I had thought I could rest on my laurels at least, but apparently those laurels have become a bit stale and won't do much to support me. And no matter how many spirit soaring warrior poses I muscle myself into, my yoga teaching certificate apparently won't get so much as my toe in the door of any self respecting law firm. How totally un-Zen. Nor, apparently, will the neurotic ramblings of my blog, which I've been warned to keep well hidden. My blog, it seems, is my red Solo cup.
Back to the drawing board. I might have to shove the blog and the elephants and all the other crap that somehow defines who I am back into the cabinets for a while. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll just set it all free, and see where it takes me.
This is cool!
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