Psychic Detritus

I was talking with friends recently about quitting my job, and after a small amount of mental math, I realized that I’ve worked at Upromise for a bit over a fifth of my life. 7 years, 1 month. So it’s perhaps not surprising that I’ve been having recurring anxiety dreams and troubles sleeping for the past week. I’ll wake up out of something not a nightmare but unpleasant nonetheless, glance at the clock to find it somewhere between 3 and 4, and then go back to sleep. Kate and I have just barely started packing and sorting, and the worries over having to handle, triage, and prep/donate/store/trash everything we own are daunting, too.

Add to this a non-registered motorcycle which may or may not still be exhibiting it’s stubborn “won’t charge its battery despite showing the correct voltage” problem (anyone want a parts bike, cheap?) and my car whose six-year-old battery chose Friday to suddenly drop to zero function, and it’s been a bad vehicle week, too. Truly, the Buddhists have it right: overattachment to material things does cause pain. Also, mechanic bills.

On Saturday we had lunch with Nick and Adair – Nick I hadn’t seen in years, and his wife Adair we’d never met. Later that evening we were happily invaded by multiple Hankins, which provided excellent distraction and engagement. It’s hard to be self-involved and stressy when you’re dunking a laughing two-year-old in the pond, grilling with many of the Upper Valley crew… and then today’s crazy Stepford-wife weather was unbelievably perfect all afternoon. Clan Hankins took off after lunch to beat the Memorial Day traffic; I read, took a nap, and rehashed a dream I’d had this morning which I can only assume portends good things: sailing on a bright, breezy day in a boat made out of giant rectangular slabs of raw salmon, cut nigiri-style.

Tomorrow, assuming I can get a replacement battery for my car, I’ll go south to Boston. Friday I’ll return, unemployed, footloose, and (hopefully) slightly more fancy-free than I have been of late.