I'd sure hate to break down here
It finally happened today--my veneer started to crack. I keep telling myself that this is no big deal. After all, people relocate every single day. Put on a fresh pair of those big girl panties and keep your game face on. Honestly though, the only time I deal with it even semi-ok is when I'm shut up in my bedroom or at work. The rest of the time, not so much. I'm so glad my kids aren't here. SO GLAD. Because I don't want them to see the house--or me, like this. Every time I walk out of my room I either get sad beyond belief or mad as hell. A little old lady showed up at the yard sale yesterday and asked if she could buy our top cabinets for $90.00. Scott told her yes (what are we gonna need them for?), and by the time I woke up this morning they were all down and gone.
I'm not a morning person to begin with, but this really set my day off wrong. I totally avoided eating breakfast at all because there wasn't a place that I could turn to avoid the hurt in that kitchen. If I spun to the left there were piles of yard-sale stuff, to the right the counters were covered in yard sale things and all of the food and dishes from the cabinets. If I raised my eyes above counter-level, all I saw were big gaping holes on the walls where the cupboards used to be. I was in there all of 2.5 seconds (literally) and spun around and went back to my room. I found some crackers to snack on for a while.
During my short jaunt out there, Scott was making some remarks about how much bigger it looked without the cabinets and was wondering how someone else would be remodelling it. All that was in my mind was how I could remember the exact day twenty years ago that my Grandpa & Ken were putting those cabinets up. Saw horses and levels filled our kitchen. My parents talking/complaining about what a perfectionist my Grandpa was. That was just a few years before he died. He never got to meet any of my kids. The cabinets gone now look like big, nasty wounds. Like the socket after a tooth falls out. It just shouldn't be that way and it's raw and bloody and painful. I can see the pencil writing on the walls from where measurments were so carefully plotted out. And it's all done now. Because of me.
As much of a butt as my husband can be, I've been just as bad to him lately. Every time I walk out there I find another reason to hand him his head. Any "normal" person (I feel) would notice that I'm not myself and that something is wrong--and any "normal" person knowing what I'm going through would be able to conclude what was wrong. Not him. No offense honey (like he ever reads this anyways), but he's like tweedle-dee and tweedle dum rolled into one. He's oblivious.
Tonight I decided that I needed to finally eat something after having nothing but crackers and water all day because I didn't even want to venture out there to get a diet coke. I told him that I know we didn't really have the money, but I wanted to go eat. After all, we haven't done ANYTHING in the month that we've had no kids and I am stressed beyond belief. We agreed to go to our favorite little Mexican restaurant (Costa Azul) and set off for it. It's up in the Huron/Sandusky area and so takes a little while to get there. Nice drive and I was feeling a little recharged by the time we exited the freeway--I shouldn't have let my guard down though. As we turn off the road, he drives right past it! I INNOCENTLY say, "Where are you going?" and he explodes with verbal diarrhea all over me. I mean it man, he screamed up one side of me and down the other. For the record--I don't respond well to that.
As we pull into the parking lot, he gets out and starts storming towards the restaurant while still screaming at me! I pull out my camera and take a picture of the sign while telling him to "shut up" (yeah, tactful I know. But it was called for.). It didn't end up good. Me+emotional distress+being yelled at+no food all day=BAD. I ended up grabbing the keys and telling him I'd lost my appetite and that if he didn't get in the car he was going to be left behind.
I sped towards home mad as a hornet but after the 40 minutes or so that it took to get to our exit remembered that I was STARVING. So I kept driving and went over to the Chinese restaurant. I figured with a buffet we wouldn't even have to speak to each other while ordering--I even briefly thought about sitting in different booths but figured that was pushing it a little bit. *Where mercy is shown, mercy is given*--blah.
So, a short while into our dinner, Scott looks at me with the most sincere look (as he does very well when he knows he's dug a big hole for himself) and said, "I'm so sorry for yelling at you like that. I really, really mean that." I returned the favor and then figured I would actually try to open up to him a little bit--because if he's not willing to open the door then I'm going to open it and snatch his stupid butt in! It was my mistake though, because right there in the middle of the Chinese buffet I lost it.
"I'm just really not dealing with this whole house thing so well. *sob* I've come to grips with *sniff* moving and that's ok with me,*sob, sob* it's just the reality of this house in my face is really, really hard." *sniff, snort, sob* Do you know what he does as I'm crying into my sushi and peanut chicken? ............wait for it........................ He reaches over, squeezes my hand and then gets up and heads back for more food. OH YES HE DID!!!! All I could think was shame on me. Shame on me for allowing him into my world. I was now not only sitting like a fool and doing the ugly cry into my sweet & sour (yes I had a lot of food on my plate--don't judge me!), but now I was sitting there doing it ALONE while my husband headed off for some superman ice cream! Of all the places to break down. I still haven't recovered.
So here I sit in my "box". That's what I'm calling my bedroom now because there's no pictures on the walls or decorations anywhere. I don't even have a headboard on my bed--selling that too, want a fresh start. It's just an empty box now. But it's somewhat safe. Except for the fact that it's five in the morning and I'm still awake because every little noise I hear is scaring me to death like I'm five years old. I started thinking, "wouldn't this be some crap? After allllllll this and I'm going to be murdered in my bed in this empty box! That would suck." I know it's the stress. Like I said, I know that people do this relocating thing every day, but of course they don't do it like me. lol Leave it to me to set some dysfunctional new standard! Most people don't have the hiroshima-esque mark on their credit record that I do now from this mortgage fiasco. Most people can't say that their home is being sold TOMORROW and they still don't have a new job nailed down, a place to live or all the money to get it. I don't know where my children will be going to school or even if we'll have a place to live when they come home. Maddie keeps calling me (and now Amelia is too) every day and asking about can this person or that person spend the night when they come home. Today she let it slip that she has been reading my blog and I had to tell her not to. That it was too much grown up stuff for them and that's why I made our "pork chop" blog. Ugggh. It's just that it feels like every single thing that makes up a "life" is in limbo for me right now. Work, home, church, my kids are all over three states--none of it is a cohesive picture. So if all of those things make a life and I don't have all of those things right now, what kind of life do I have? I know God is in the business of fixing things at the last moment, but come on Lord. Please cut me a little slack. Give me something because I am holding on by my fingernails and they're starting to break one at a time.
My horoscope for the coming week says this (maybe they're not entirely garbage):
You feel fairly dependent on a certain development. If things don't happen how you want them to, what will you do? Something else. That's what. You may be psychologically dependent on a particular arrangement, but you are not physically tied to it. Maybe, if you allow yourself to remain emotionally hooked, you will end up needing to be unhooked for your own good. All the more reason then, not to care quite so much about what happens next. Things will be all right, regardless of how you feel or what you fear. Please trust that.
I'm not a morning person to begin with, but this really set my day off wrong. I totally avoided eating breakfast at all because there wasn't a place that I could turn to avoid the hurt in that kitchen. If I spun to the left there were piles of yard-sale stuff, to the right the counters were covered in yard sale things and all of the food and dishes from the cabinets. If I raised my eyes above counter-level, all I saw were big gaping holes on the walls where the cupboards used to be. I was in there all of 2.5 seconds (literally) and spun around and went back to my room. I found some crackers to snack on for a while.
During my short jaunt out there, Scott was making some remarks about how much bigger it looked without the cabinets and was wondering how someone else would be remodelling it. All that was in my mind was how I could remember the exact day twenty years ago that my Grandpa & Ken were putting those cabinets up. Saw horses and levels filled our kitchen. My parents talking/complaining about what a perfectionist my Grandpa was. That was just a few years before he died. He never got to meet any of my kids. The cabinets gone now look like big, nasty wounds. Like the socket after a tooth falls out. It just shouldn't be that way and it's raw and bloody and painful. I can see the pencil writing on the walls from where measurments were so carefully plotted out. And it's all done now. Because of me.
As much of a butt as my husband can be, I've been just as bad to him lately. Every time I walk out there I find another reason to hand him his head. Any "normal" person (I feel) would notice that I'm not myself and that something is wrong--and any "normal" person knowing what I'm going through would be able to conclude what was wrong. Not him. No offense honey (like he ever reads this anyways), but he's like tweedle-dee and tweedle dum rolled into one. He's oblivious.
Tonight I decided that I needed to finally eat something after having nothing but crackers and water all day because I didn't even want to venture out there to get a diet coke. I told him that I know we didn't really have the money, but I wanted to go eat. After all, we haven't done ANYTHING in the month that we've had no kids and I am stressed beyond belief. We agreed to go to our favorite little Mexican restaurant (Costa Azul) and set off for it. It's up in the Huron/Sandusky area and so takes a little while to get there. Nice drive and I was feeling a little recharged by the time we exited the freeway--I shouldn't have let my guard down though. As we turn off the road, he drives right past it! I INNOCENTLY say, "Where are you going?" and he explodes with verbal diarrhea all over me. I mean it man, he screamed up one side of me and down the other. For the record--I don't respond well to that.
As we pull into the parking lot, he gets out and starts storming towards the restaurant while still screaming at me! I pull out my camera and take a picture of the sign while telling him to "shut up" (yeah, tactful I know. But it was called for.). It didn't end up good. Me+emotional distress+being yelled at+no food all day=BAD. I ended up grabbing the keys and telling him I'd lost my appetite and that if he didn't get in the car he was going to be left behind.
I sped towards home mad as a hornet but after the 40 minutes or so that it took to get to our exit remembered that I was STARVING. So I kept driving and went over to the Chinese restaurant. I figured with a buffet we wouldn't even have to speak to each other while ordering--I even briefly thought about sitting in different booths but figured that was pushing it a little bit. *Where mercy is shown, mercy is given*--blah.
So, a short while into our dinner, Scott looks at me with the most sincere look (as he does very well when he knows he's dug a big hole for himself) and said, "I'm so sorry for yelling at you like that. I really, really mean that." I returned the favor and then figured I would actually try to open up to him a little bit--because if he's not willing to open the door then I'm going to open it and snatch his stupid butt in! It was my mistake though, because right there in the middle of the Chinese buffet I lost it.
"I'm just really not dealing with this whole house thing so well. *sob* I've come to grips with *sniff* moving and that's ok with me,*sob, sob* it's just the reality of this house in my face is really, really hard." *sniff, snort, sob* Do you know what he does as I'm crying into my sushi and peanut chicken? ............wait for it........................ He reaches over, squeezes my hand and then gets up and heads back for more food. OH YES HE DID!!!! All I could think was shame on me. Shame on me for allowing him into my world. I was now not only sitting like a fool and doing the ugly cry into my sweet & sour (yes I had a lot of food on my plate--don't judge me!), but now I was sitting there doing it ALONE while my husband headed off for some superman ice cream! Of all the places to break down. I still haven't recovered.
So here I sit in my "box". That's what I'm calling my bedroom now because there's no pictures on the walls or decorations anywhere. I don't even have a headboard on my bed--selling that too, want a fresh start. It's just an empty box now. But it's somewhat safe. Except for the fact that it's five in the morning and I'm still awake because every little noise I hear is scaring me to death like I'm five years old. I started thinking, "wouldn't this be some crap? After allllllll this and I'm going to be murdered in my bed in this empty box! That would suck." I know it's the stress. Like I said, I know that people do this relocating thing every day, but of course they don't do it like me. lol Leave it to me to set some dysfunctional new standard! Most people don't have the hiroshima-esque mark on their credit record that I do now from this mortgage fiasco. Most people can't say that their home is being sold TOMORROW and they still don't have a new job nailed down, a place to live or all the money to get it. I don't know where my children will be going to school or even if we'll have a place to live when they come home. Maddie keeps calling me (and now Amelia is too) every day and asking about can this person or that person spend the night when they come home. Today she let it slip that she has been reading my blog and I had to tell her not to. That it was too much grown up stuff for them and that's why I made our "pork chop" blog. Ugggh. It's just that it feels like every single thing that makes up a "life" is in limbo for me right now. Work, home, church, my kids are all over three states--none of it is a cohesive picture. So if all of those things make a life and I don't have all of those things right now, what kind of life do I have? I know God is in the business of fixing things at the last moment, but come on Lord. Please cut me a little slack. Give me something because I am holding on by my fingernails and they're starting to break one at a time.
My horoscope for the coming week says this (maybe they're not entirely garbage):
You feel fairly dependent on a certain development. If things don't happen how you want them to, what will you do? Something else. That's what. You may be psychologically dependent on a particular arrangement, but you are not physically tied to it. Maybe, if you allow yourself to remain emotionally hooked, you will end up needing to be unhooked for your own good. All the more reason then, not to care quite so much about what happens next. Things will be all right, regardless of how you feel or what you fear. Please trust that.
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