holding it together while letting it go.

The nice white-haired clerk at Walgreen's knew I had asked the manager for cardboard boxes for packing. So when I checked out and paid for the packing tape I purchased she asked so kindly, "So, where are you moving to?"

The tears came out of nowhere and I managed to choke out, "I really don't know yet. It's a long story, but I can't stay in my house for much longer."

Like any decent grandmother would, she nodded and wished my luck as I hurried to the door of the store, embarrassed that I had let my emotions leak to a complete stranger.

I went back home where my girlfriend Colleen was washing light fixtures and windows for me. Together we began the process of putting away my personal belongings in anticipation of trying to sell the house I had hoped to never move from.

I will take the good with the bad. In a lot of ways, the house, as Chrissy described, had a death happen in it. I never really intended to live here forever after the divorce, but I suppose part of me had wished I might be able to.

Lucky for me, Colleen is much better at making decisions about what to keep, what to give away and what would find a home wherever the girls and I land.

Later, I had a visit with the good doctor and I continued to weep like a baby. He didn't mind, but he also suggested I just let it out and let it go, since it wouldn't be in my best interest to sit on that pity pot for too long, lest it become my new aversion technique to the issues at hand.

Wisely, I agreed.

He also offered some sound advice. That the path I take to get to where I am going is much less important than where I eventually end up. So, like most things, there is no right or wrong way to go about it, but the object is to definitely find myself in a much better place. Physically and emotionally.

I've never had much faith in myself to do anything.


Right now might be a real good time to start.