Average Jane


I’ve moved my furniture 16 times… at least. That estimate is surely low. At some point I stopped counting.

I get out of bed to rearrange my sock drawers.

My kitchen is full of things I know I own but somehow feel foreign.

Nothing is as it should be and nothing I do seems to make it feel… right.

Laid off in November. Unemployed through February.

Job. Job. Apartment hunt. Move. Job. Job. April.


And my body is reacting. The visceral manifestation of stress and new and overwhelming unsettledness.

So I move the things I can move. My couch. My chair. My bed. My socks.

I sip soup and hope it stops hurting. I wipe tears and hope no one sees.

I’m no good at change, not one little bit, and right now I am surrounded by nothing familiar except this table I am typing on shoved awkwardly into the corner of a room full of a life I don’t know.

The question is, “When does new become normal”?

When I can find the oatmeal at the market the first time around? When I don’t stumble down the short hall looking for the light switch that isn’t there and never was?

I’m fine. As always. “Fine” is how I do. But… but… but for the amazing friends I have, new and old, would my new life be even less familiar. I suppose love is always what reminds us we’re going to be alright.


Trackbacks & Pingbacks


  1. * Katherine says:

    Would it be inappropriate to pretend to hug you? 🙂

    I don’t think it’s excessive until it’s 200.

    | Reply Posted 9 years ago
  2. * trinity2 says:

    Hey, just wanted to stop by and say hi and to tell you to hang in there!

    | Reply Posted 9 years ago
  3. * Belle says:


    Yesterday, I could be found hard at work reorganizing my sock drawer, too…

    Next time one of us feels that urge, we should probably go get drinks instead. (Drinks are way more fun than argyle & tears…)

    | Reply Posted 9 years ago

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