This all seems surreal.

It is now Monday morning at about 1 am. By the time I post this it will be Friday morning and if everything goes as smoothly as it has been we will have done the walk through in the new house and have closed the next day. So here I am waiting for this week to unfold, and I am not happy per Se as much as melancholy, reflective, pensive, and removed. I know that in about nine hours I will be doing the walk through followed by wiring the money to the bank. I know that in about 34 hours I will be closing on the new house- but this all seems surreal.

On Tuesday June 18^th I turned to my slave and said that I was done. I couldn’t do this anymore, that I didn’t know where we were going to land, but we couldn’t keep  doing  what we were doing and I  had reached my breaking point. Rightfully so, she was stunned, but never once said non and a fter a few minutes, she thoughtfully said OK.

A few days after that my slave  wrote about our situation  on Facebook and a few days after that we met our new realtor Beth Beaver who specializes in the East Mountains. So here  we are literally six weeks after that decision was made and we are closing on our new home and re looking at what our future can hold.

I am starting to get sad and frustrated about some things. I will miss my 5 acres as we go down to 2.5 . I will miss the green as it will take some time to build up the land; I will miss the feeling of solitude as our new neighbors will be in sight, and the openness of our current house as the new one is about 200 sq feet less, with a more closed floor plan.  

I am angry at this house, at myself, at the people that should have had our best interest at heart and failed us, I am angry. I am scared that I am putting all of this effort forth and in one year my slave and I will be in the same boat that we are here. I try to remind myself that we are making different decisions. That Beth knows her stuff right down to the subdivision and  that she has out best interest at heart. I know that we are going way below what we can really afford, and that we know so much more now than we did before.

I keep trying to reassure myself that this move will mean a difference for us, and that I shouldn’t feel so sad and frustrated. I should feel grateful, happy, and joyful, I should feel all sorts of things like relief, and relaxation- and yet here I am - unable to sleep at one am - waiting for – well- something.

I know that logically any move from where we are now will be a good thing. I know that logically this has brought about a massive amount of community and loved ones support and that should be my focus.  I know that logically in time I will adjust to less land and less house, but will smile when I see my horses well fed and feet trimmed. 

I know that logically this all makes sense- I am just waiting for the rest of me- literally the rest of me- to get there to. 

I can only hope about where we will be in a year, two years from now. That is what is getting me through the now- the hope that the future will be so much better than the last four years. I hold on to that with what strength and resolve I have left.

 The hope that I will be able to give back instead of having my hand out, the hope that my slave will never have another winter with no heat, or one more day with  an empty  pantry. The hope that I will never see the horses ribs again, the hope that I can reclaim my sense of dignity and self worth. 

Perhaps that is what scares me the most- if this doesn’t work- who will I be? What will I be left with? How can I rebuild if this doesn’t work? And I don’t mean my finances or my credit score, I mean myself. This house has striped me of who I thought I could be, and this move is putting all of that on the line- my sense of worth as a person ,as a lesbian ,as a Master. So the thought of failing now is the thought that I could loose every sense of myself that ever mattered to me.    

Come to think of it- with all of that on the line- maybe I am holding up pretty ok…….