Building our home was an adventure. So many great memories over the 21 years. I made wonderful friends. My husband was the fire chief for our ERT. I was an active member for years. I made pizzas at the local resort. I also served as secretary for the community association, treasurer for the fall fair. Our decision to sell was not taken lightly.

courtesy of Dean Birks

But the time has come to leave, and now I’m obsessing about it. I spend much too much time googling houses for sale in Rusagonia, Oromocto, and Fredericton areas. Time that I should be spending writing and reading.

I think about the stuff I have to do to be able to move. I lay awake at night wondering why the house hasn’t sold. I know, I know — slow market. It doesn’t make me feel better. Yes, only a certain type of buyer wants a home on a lake in central BC, an hour from the nearest airport, an hour’s flight to Vancouver. An hour drive to Costco on winter roads November to February.

Before I was published I obsessed like this. I made fake covers for each of my novels and wrapped them around other books. I walked, talked, ate, slept “published”.

I first published in 2008.

I’m absolutely thrilled to be published.

I’ve replaced my obsession for being published with selling and moving to New Brunswick. Once we do, I’ll probably obsess about something else. I suppose that’s what people like me do.

courtesy of Dean Birks, realtor

Friends tell me it will happen, I just need to keep the faith.

I’m trying. But to be honest, my faith is shaky. Part of me believes that it does matter to the universe whether I’m happy. Another part realized it’s up to me to be happy wherever home is.

The reason I haven’t been blogging much or commenting as I generally do is because I’ve let myself become too obsessed. I’m consumed by thoughts of moving and all it encumbers. And now I’m low under the weight of it all.

Somebody told me once that we all have our place in the sun. I hope that’s true. Because I watch the news and see so much pain, abuse, and sadness, and my little obsession seems silly in comparison.

courtesy of Dean Birks, realtor

Obsessing about moving, neglecting my writing, keeping myself awake at night is silly. Yet, I can’t seem to stop myself. Home is where my heart is. And honestly, that means anywhere my husband is.

courtesy of Dean Birks

Tell me to stop obsessing about something I can’t control, and I will.