This is–or was–my best old coping mechanism. Generally when kH found me cleaning baseboards at 10 PM, he knew to ask what was wrong.  For me, it makes perfect sense.* In school, I couldn’t write a paper until the house was clean, and it wasn’t a delaying tactic. It’s that the environment had to be organized. (If I had to wait for the house to be clean to write now, I’d never write a word, so thankfully we’re past that. Mostly.)

In other news, our situation still stinks, it might be worse vis-a-vis my husband, but I am not crying all the time. Go team pharmacology.

A friend asked how we could possibly stand to live without a  car (bear in mind this makes me a bad Portlander, but I don’t bike. I loved it as a kid–and would go for long, rural rides–but biking scares the bejeezus out of me now). I think my answer was something erudite like, “Well…we just live without a car for a while. I mean, this is Portland. We have buses and trains and streetcars and trams. It’ll be fine.” So no, I don’t like the idea of a three mile round trip walk to the library (or rather I won’t, once the ankle is better), but it will be fine. Eventually.


*My version of the Serenity Prayer goes like this:

“FSM, grant me the ability to accept the things I cannot control,  the ability to recognize the things I can control (and clean and/or organize them), and the wisdom to know the difference.”