When did easy become a dirty word?

Things are easier here. It’s true. And I am not so sure how I feel about it. I know it is one of the many reasons we came here, to get out of the rat race and find ourselves in a simpler place. Well, I can’t say that it didn’t happen, but I realize I don’t have a plan for what to do with all that extra time. And it is wrecking havoc on my self-esteem.

For example, Dave got the stomach bug…again. (yeah, poor guy.) And he is sick, so he gets home and sleeps and sweats and sweats and sweats causing an ever-so-tiny lagoon in our sheets. If we were in Oakland, it would have been a real shame because those sheets would have been washed on the weekend and not a moment sooner. Why?

Because doing a wash in Oakland involved the following;
1. Rhythmic gymnastics (you know the stuff, lots of awkward movement, but seemingly no “sport” to it) to open the door to the all-purpose-everything-imaginable-stuck-in-a-tiny-room off of the kitchen, then squeeze in, shut the door behind me, open the dryer door, pull out clothes, balance them on my head, close the dryer door, step back, open the room door—rinse and repeat (just checking if you are really following this nonsense)
2. Finding a home for the laundry in the dryer (typically creating another stratosphere of clothing above our loveseat)
3. Finding a home for the damp, musty clothes stuck in the washer, which were cycled through in a fit of optimistic housecleaning (typically under the dining room table until the washer was freed-up again)
4. Remembering to not let the sheets become another sopping-wet reminder that I hate choreographing the laundry dance and will stop short of finishing a load just to avoid it
5. Finally, making the bed, which involves even more juggling of clothes, pillows, children and inevitably a cat (which isn’t any different here).

After all that, you plop yourself between those fresh sheets and feel nothing short of a hero. Those sweet smelling linens are as good as a wreath of roses at the end of the Kentucky Derby. Ah, success.

But here it is easy, not just easy because we have a laundry room (which rocks). Easy because doing laundry is so damn simple, there are already clean sheets! No more piles of sheets huddled in the corners of the laundry room. There is a closet full of clean, folded, fresh sheets. Changing those icky-damp rags was a breeze. It was done in minutes. And you know what I felt after changing them…nothing. Not a damn thing. It wasn't the same. I wasn’t laced with guilt as we crawled into sad, sick sheets and then buzzing with the elation of cleaning them, and spreading them lovingly back onto the bed, and rolling around in our greatness. No, it was just changing the sheets.

For those of you who are thinking…”Eeeew! She slept in sweaty, gross sheets” Well no, I never actually did. But sadly, I have let my husband. Which makes me a terrible person, but not a disgusting one.

The truth is that things were harder in Oakland. Going to the grocery store was harder, buying a birthday present, getting a cup of coffee…all harder and all perversely fulfilling. I was proud when I accomplished a trip to the store and shocked when an errand didn’t involve a line, a panhandler, a hike, a bitch, or an unexpected expense. Accounting for additional time and effort is wired into my psyche. I am braced for what the world has to throw at me and I ready with a fight or flight response depending on my nemesis. I am not prepared for a world with a bright-white smile, manners, and cheerful suggestions to try the Honey Ham.

What do I do with all this additional energy? (Besides the obvious criminal actions against my neighbor.) And more importantly, where do I find a sense of accomplishment? I am telling you—anyone with an opposable thumb could run my errands here. Where is the glory!?!

I still have dinner, but I think I am going to have to raise the stakes if I am going to find my happiness here. Or I might just need to calm down.