Ever'ting's gonna be alright, now...

(Love me some Bob Marley. There's a story about why I love Bob Marley, and this pothead boy that I adored in med school - yes, he's a doctor, now, too. He was a wicked smart pothead boy - but I'll save that for another day. Suffice it to say that we had this plan about running away to a Caribbean island and setting up a little free clinic and never having to wear shoes.)

Hmm. It's been an interesting morning. Haven't really gotten much done (well, that's just not true...I haven't gotten any more packing done), but I came home and I sat down, and I decided to do a little blog reading to quiet my latest swell of ohmigodohmigodihmigod that was inspired by what I just left (get there in a minute). And I read Barb's post about her charmed life and I thought, you know...maybe I'll take a moment more, here.

There was this patient we had on the adolescent unit when I was there, we'll call her Autumn. She wasn't my patient, and when you got right down to the nitty gritty, she was there for some pretty unfortunate reasons and some unsettling behaviors. She, too, was a pretty big pothead, about to turn 18, really was sort of doing the best she could with one heck of a messed-up life. But I'll be damned if, while on our unit, she wasn't the most positive force to be reckoned with. She was roommates with one of my patients, a girl who, when I met her, I'll admit it, I was like, oh, God, kid, suck it up and quit being a baby. I got over it, but Autumn, right away, she was all over this kid, calmed her down, comforted her, and made posters for my patient's side of the room saying "It's going to be okay."

This, it turned out, was such an Autumn catch phrase. She wrote it on the windows (they're allowed to do that, there), she frequently referenced it at morning meeting (usually in the form of, "See? I told you it was going to be okay"), I think it was something of a mantra for her.

It's a good mantra. I should really co-opt that.

So this morning, I got up, and went to the hospital to pick up the boxes that everyone's been stashing in the intern office for me. PenguinShrink, who was coming off call, the poor thing, was very sweet and helped me carry them all out. We ran into the clinic manager, who's going to call me later this afternoon so that she can unload her large pile of empty boxes on me (yay!). And then I did some dumpster diving on the way out and found some more - a skill I perfected at the yarn shop, back in the day. Back when the little hand dyed yarn company was just a teetering startup, we'd dumpster dive for shipping boxes two or three times a week. Occasionally one of us would toss little Veronica into the dumpster outside the Sears, and she'd pick out the really good ones. The service guys thought we were crazy, and the Man in Brown was always amused at us shipping boxes and boxes of yarn outwardly disguised as vacuum cleaners and motor parts.

Anyhow.

I then went over to pick up the keys to the new place. Originally, remember, I was renting the house that Sparrow is currently living in, and she was moving in to part of the landlord's house, but then the plan changed and now I'm moving in to the identical cottage next door.

Except, whoa, not so identical.

The kid that lives there, let's call him Kyle (because of the Jew 'Fro. Ever see the South Park eps where Kyle has to take off his hat?), has not taken nearly as good care of the place as Sparrow has of hers. It's a dump, currently. And I have absolutely no doubts that by Friday, when I'm slated to move in there, it will be spic and span and repainted and the refrigerator will be replaced and all the cabinets will have their faces on again and it will be clean and not disgusting and all the crap that he has in there despite the fact that he was supposed to be out two days ago and has been off work for the past three weeks and oh my holy frakkin' wow is that place still full of crap (breathe, breathe) will be gone and it will be lovely. Totally, wonderfully lovely, because my landlord will accept nothing less. Both my current landlord, or the neighbor who bought her place and is about to become my landlord. Won't stand for it being anything short of lovely and wonderful and every bit the seaside-cottage-evoking bliss retreat that I was assuming I would get when I moved into Sparrow's place.

But right now? Oh, holy shit.

I also keep forgetting how very small the place really is. Extremely rough estimate? Maybe 700 square feet. My current place? 1300. My old house in NH? 2000.

You see why this is squeaking me out a little.

But I'm trying (trying) to get rid of as much crap as I can. I mean, I'm putting the buffet in storage and the guest bed, and donating most of the bookcases and my dressers and the coffee table and possibly the couch (I know, Mom and Dad, I know!). I'm donating a lot of general stuff. But still. There's just so much stuff. I have no doubt I can live in such a small space, but, I'm just not sure what I'm going to do with all the crap that I kind of actually have a use for. Like my sewing stuff. And all the damn yarn.

I mean, I do have an attic, and also, I discovered today, a nice shed. But still. The whole thing is sort of overwhelming....

But it's going to be okay.

And I should just go get going....