Adjustment Period

Y’all, there is FLOOR in my house.  Who knew that was hiding under all the boxes?  I made massive strides in unpacking yesterday while hanging around home waiting for the internet installers (hubby is now in mourning that we are now paying twice as much for speeds that are a seventh of what we had in town–this is what we get for moving to the county.  We plan to start a neighborhood petition to AT&T to stretch the DSL lines out to us–they stop only 100 yards from our neighborhood).    I got all the books that were there (only a fraction of what I own–the rest are still at the storage unit) unpacked, some pictures hung, and most everything in the garage (that didn’t belong in the garage) unpacked.  I’m down to the surprise boxes (the ones that were reused on moving day and not relabeled) and accessories.  Hubs still has his man cave to sort out and his closet to organize.  I suspect a lot of what’s in those boxes for his closet will wind up in file 13.

I’m trying to get used to new stuff.  I had nearly six years to get very set in my ways for how I did things at the old house, and there are things that are driving me insane at the new house because I’m so tired that I want to fall back on routine and not have to think.  Like the digital controls on my oven.  What the hell is this thing where I have to press START to make it set the temperature?  I’ve walked off half a dozen times to let the oven preheat, only to come back and find it never started because I didn’t press the extra button.  I like my nice simple KNOBS darn it!  There’s also nowhere for a towel bar by the shower in the master bath.  There’s literally no stretch of wall long enough except for across the room by the tub.  So I’ve ordered one of those over door towel bar things.  That should get here tomorrow.

The whole adjustment period kind of reminds me of the cranky I had over the years I was making the shift from pantser to plotter.  I kept getting frustrated at whatever system not working and wanting to fall back into old habits rather than creating new ones.  It’s easy to do that with writing, with life, with anything.  We are creatures of habit and are, to a point, inherently lazy.  Change takes WORK.  Of course now I am a rabid plotter, so I know I’ll adjust to the new space and its new quirks with time and more sleep.  And once EVERYTHING is in its place and there are no more boxes left to trip over.  My arms and legs look like an angry modernist painting–all these splashes of purple and black and yellow.  I’m getting some killer definition in my arms though!

I should be able to get back to writing on Monday.  I’ve got a short story I need to write for an anthology that’s due by end of June, so I think I’m going to start with that before I get back into DOTH (which I need to reread, as I’ve been away for two whole weeks).  Susan and I discussed one idea for the story before the move, and I’m not sure if I’m going to go with that or try something different.  We’ll see if it gels for me once I get going or if a Sexy New Story idea pops up in its place.