So, I mentioned before in this blog (and my previous one) that I have this uncontrollable urge to rearrange the rooms in my house every month or two. I don’t know why I must do it, but I must. My first husband was pretty okay with it. But he was out to sea most of the time so he really didn’t care one way or another. He’d go out to sea and the furniture would be one way, and he’d come home to the living room being in a completely different part of the house. But he didn’t care, so long as everyone was healthy and happy and I left the bedroom alone, he was good with the furniture growing legs and moving about upon occasion. My second husband had no opinion on the matter, but our relationship was… complicated. I’ve had other live-in relationships and their reactions to this were… varied. One person just flat out freaked out when he came home one day and I’d moved the furniture because for him change was/is bad — bad bad bad. Too bad, so sad for him because I was the one paying the rent so he had to live with it or find another place to live. My furniture, my place, I’ll move them wherever I want to. More on that later. My kids got used to it. They, of course, got roped into moving the big stuff as they got older.
Anyway, housemates aside, this urge to move things around — or relocate them (see, it has everything to do with the prompt) has not lessened as I’ve gotten older and more frail. I still have the overwhelming desire to move the furniture around, like every three months or so. It’s not a passing fancy either. It gets under my skin if I can’t and stresses me out. And no, moving one piece of furniture won’t do it. The whole room has to be rearranged. Part of the reason is I need to get under and behind the big furniture and clean thoroughly. And, of course, one of the best ways to do that is to move the furniture out of the way. My way of thinking is, Why not rearrange the whole room while I’m at it? But that’s just part of it, and really it’s a small part of it. Because one can get under and around the furniture without moving it, it’s just the best way.
The biggest part of why I need to relocate things (I hypothesize) is that I’m the exact opposite of my aforementioned roommate. For him, change was/is bad and he actually froze in panic when he walked through the door after I’d rearranged the living room. To be fair, I didn’t know that about him when I was moving stuff around. I only got angry with him when he demanded, like demanded, that I change everything back. And he wasn’t even paying rent. He was there on my dime. Screw that noise. We did come to an agreement later, but yeah, that particular argument did not end well. But I digress. My hypothesis is that I need change much like he needed things to stay the same. It’s a quirk in my psyche. It’s probably why I moved so often in the past too. Even though I came to realize that no matter where I went or how often I moved, it was pretty much the same ol’ same ol’ with different faces. But again, I digress.
So anyway, I move things around because I start to twitch from looking at the same layout of furniture day after day. I can only put up with that for so long and Bam! I need to relocate some sh–tuff or I’ll go bonkers. The problem is that I’m getting older and I can’t just throw furniture around like I used to. Plus I don’t have the army of indentured servants (read: kids) that I had before. It’s just me and Douglas, and ain’t neither of us spring chickens anymore. Hell, I hurt myself just yesterday by carrying in packages from outside… I can’t even imagine moving furniture around right now. But! the urge to do so is still there, and still as strong as ever. Talk about frustration. I know, I just know, it’s gonna be so great one day that I’m gonna say, “Fuck it.” and start moving stuff. And the next day you, dear reader, will be reading a blog about how I hurt myself relocating furniture because I just couldn’t take it anymore.