The year 2009 has been a busy 33 months for me. At least, it seems like it’s been 33 months, though I’m sure if I consulted a calendar, it would say, well, absolutely nothing because calendars can’t talk.
It probably just seems like 33 months because I haven’t had time to think this year. That’s completely different from previous years when I had loads of time to think and just chose not to.
The bulk of my year has been consumed with selling a house, buying a house, refurbishing a 77-year-old house and asking my wife, “What’s that creaking noise?”
“It’s you — you’re just not used to moving around this much.”
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True. I’ve had to be on the go all year since we decided to ditch the hustle and bustle of city life for the relaxation and simplicity of life in the country. Too bad I didn’t how stressful and complicated getting all that relaxation and simplicity would be.
I thought we’d just buy the house, sit on the front porch and drink some mint juleps. But when you buy a foreclosure, they don’t always disclose all the details about the property — such as that secret second water heater behind the wall, the 800-watt light that comes on randomly or that Eugene guy living in a second-floor closet.
So we’ve been fixing this and that (by “fixing” I mean “paying people to fix”) and staying on the go. And all that has gotten in the way of the one thing I was truly hoping to accomplish with this move:
I missed those smalltown days of my youth when I had nothing to do. Nowhere to go. No way to get there. Nothing to complain about. Nothing to stress over. Nothing to finish.
I’m hoping all the somethings I’ve been busy with these first 33 months of 2009 are done, and I can spend the last two doing an awful lot of nothing.
Maybe I can do some nothing in a hammock, though I’m just as comfortable doing nothing in a front porch swing. I’m even willing to drive over to the Flint River and do nothing in my kayak if I’m feeling the need to do nothing away from everthing.
Bring on the no. No grass to mow. No repair guys waking me up. No bills to open that look like they’re billing me in yen. No weird sounds in the night. No stinky animals committing suicide under the house.
And you’d better believe I’ll be doing nothing just as soon as I get this new central heat and air unit installed this weekend, which I’m sure will be the last thing I have to do to this house for, literally, days.
Nothing sure is something to look forward to.
Chris Johnson, whose column appears on Sundays, can be reached at 706-320-4403.