The party is cancelled

“For whatever reasons, Ray, call it… fate, call it luck, call it karma, I believe everything happens for a reason.”

– Dr Peter Venkman, Ghostbusters

I’ve been wandering around my new house in a blissed out haze. The place is nothing special, it’s on a busy road, but it’s a happy home.

And I feel so lucky.

The only thing messing with my zen has been the crazy decision to throw two housewarmings in six months. What was I thinking?

There are still so many boxes to unpack, I forgot to send half the invitations because I moved house then went on a cruise the next day, plus I’ve been very distracted lately.

Happiness is diverting, it makes you vague. Unhappiness is a much more focused emotion.

There’s also the small matter of two 50th birthdays that night, including one for my dear petsitter Glen, plus a camping trip and various other warring engagements.

I sent a nervy message about the situation to DD in the early hours of this morning and he had the inspired idea of moving the party to next month and making it a combined housewarming/birthday.

Genius.

I will send a new invite soon … and hopefully be a bit more methodical about it this time.

Aside from being distractedly happy, I also appear to be turning into my mother. I strike up conversations with EVERYONE – standing at the traffic lights, waiting in queues, going to the gym class …

It’s an urge that’s almost impossible to resist. I went to a gym class on the cruise ship last week and literally could not stop myself from engaging the mad, bald Dutch instructor in conversation (when I arrived he was doing stretches while balanced on his shiny head … I don’t think that’s textbook). I stood there thinking WTF is he doing? Then WTF am I doing? There was no need for the interaction. Why couldn’t I just stand at the back of the room anonymously and just get on with it?

Mind you, talking to every man and his dog is quite fun. I feel little more energised after each exchange.

The same thing happens when I wake up feeling emotionally sub-par … All it takes is an animated chat with a workmate and the blues are brushed away.

Life – despite little mammogram hiccups – feels so much more zen and calm too. I’m starting to relax a little. Relaxing a lot will take much more work. But a little is progress.

There have been so many unspoken rules that governed my world, as recounted in a blog called Abnormal Behaviour:

There are many things about me that drive Husband crazy, but one of my most infuriating pecadillos is that I insist on everything being done a certain way. He often accuses me of having Aspergers-like tendencies, despite me no longer colour-coordinating the pegs while hanging out the washing.

He has also been known to get very, very cross about my rigid views on driving routes/cooking techniques when he is the one behind the wheel or wielding the wooden spoon … as in pulling over the car and getting out and walking away.

You see, I must take particular routes when I go to familiar places. The way I go there is usually completely different to the way home, but both must be followed each time, always in the correct order.

I must always shop at the same supermarket. The thought of shopping in an unfamiliar setting makes my chest all tight. Even if it’s more convenient.

I’m slowly learning to loosen the reins.

I love structure and plans and certainty, but I’m trying to be more at peace with letting stuff go.

At odds with my need for certainty is my belief in fate. There’s this comforting voice inside me that always insists things will work out the way they are supposed to … that I’ll look back in a year or two and think “ah, that’s what fate had in mind … sweet!”

As the first anniversary of my husband announcing he was leaving approaches, it seems fate has chosen to turn the worst thing that’s ever happened in my life into one of the best.

And I don’t want party angst to mess with that … so let’s clink glasses next month and toast 2015 being filled with endless possibilities. (Besides, that’ll give me more time to organise the flashing checkerboard disco floor … it’s also still languishing on my to-do list.)