Time To Shed Some Armor

I am still kind of tentative about my new home. Sometimes things seem so good that I can't believe they are true and that bothers me, because in my experience, if something seems that way, it probably is.

Yet, I wonder if my expectations have been a bit jaundiced by life too. I'm sure they have. I was working on a story yesterday and found myself writing, "Maddy had long since decided that she preferred to live alone rather than risk living with the knowledge that she was not quite up to snuff. Knowing that she was no longer a nubile young lady of twenty five, she still did not want to be reminded of it on an ongoing basis."

It's possible I've put on a little armor here and there. The too bright smile meant to deflect the stony stares of modern day Medusas. The pride that keeps me working and lifting long after my muscles have ripped themselves from my bones. I need to shed some of this stuff and just enjoy what's happening.

And what is happening is wonderful. The people here offered to help me move my stuff in, but I didn't want to impose, so I refused their help. They offered to bring heavy packages over from the office and hang curtain rods for me and I am learning. I let them. I'm not used to people doing things for me and especially not as quickly and with as much good will as I am discovering here.

Part of me is so grateful it is almost pathetic and part of me keeps wondering when the other shoe will drop. I don't know why that is. I do things for other people just because I want to, why wouldn't others do the same thing?

Can it be possible that the people around me are as good as they seem? I want to believe this. It is the way I want the world to be, but I keep waiting for the evil step mother to reach out through her mirror and throttle me. I suppose, like everything else, it is just going to take time.