Moving On?

Slept deep and peacefully last night. Got through my number puzzles gracefully this morning. I was able to read a few forum posts without triggering into callous sarcasm. Responded to a few. 'Tis not mine to judge whether my responses were callous, or not. It is far easier to know when I am being triggered than it is to know if I am triggering someone else. The absence of sensory cues in a digital forum makes it even harder to know.

With Big Brother's memories feeling at peace in my mind, the current realities awaiting me in Texas are beginning to feel important again. I am rather pleased with how gently ponderings of those realities are re-entering my thoughts. No mean name-calling. No judgemental summaries. Just humans being human. Confounding critters, them polluting humans. Be still, my psychiatric alphabet soup. Acknowledging my own human nature now. . .

So far, I am feeling no inclination, whatsoever, to return to the job site. It never got past the survey phase and has become an unhealthy isolation chamber in my own strictly personals. The BIL/SIL want to keep it as Surname Family business as usual. A financial portfolio line item which holds no personal interest for them. The next generation likewise. I amnae willing to tackle the odds of that bubbling up as a family dispute down the road. Investor family disputes are too brutal for my strictly personal fight style. I leave the investor leagues alone as far as I can. Politics arenae my strong suit.

Nor do I feel any urgency to hard wrap the job site. We have no room in the urban homestead for the stuff I left there and I honestly believe that the house is currently a law suit waiting to happen as a rental property. Old electrical, leaky propane, and degraded pier and beam foundation, just for starters. The modest house was built in 1929 and spent more than half its life as an absentee owner investment property. Pretty much up to the expectations I have built in my meandering contractor career.

Getting onto the same sheet of music with my loved ones isnae so simple. Outside the catered family events, we donae even visit the same libraries, much less the same books. Just train the elephant in the room to hold a Christmas tree and put some pretty paper on the turds. . .

Oops. . . Is my sarcasm beast on the loose again? Plying therapy tools. . . Small steps, big faith and lots of gentle prayer.