"You seem very well. Things look peaceful.
I'm not quite as well, I thought you should know."
- Alannis Morrisette, "You Oughta Know"
Our new house is beautiful, like out of a decorator's magazine. It's the epitome of suburbia, complete with a white picket fence.
Ryan has handled his first week in the new house remarkably well. He loves splashing in the pool and rolling balls around the pool table and spraying the hose at the driveway. He sleeps perfectly, and has only asked to go to the old house a handful of times.
It probably helps him that he hasn't seen another child since we moved in.
But this does not help me.
I have been spiraling down into a depression the likes of which I haven't seen in a couple of years. I've spent much of the last week crying. I don't know anyone, and it's been so hot out that none of the neighbors are spending any time outside, so I've barely even seen anyone.
Intellectually I know that eventually things will improve - when Ryan starts school tomorrow I'll start to have basic human interaction; when the local derby league figures out when I can start with them I'll meet like-minded girls, maybe even make a friend; whenever I find a job to pay the expenses that go along with the apartment we still haven't been able to sell, I might have co-workers.
But for now, I just feel trapped in someone else's dream home, someone else's dream.