insanity, life — Valerie on August 14, 2008 at 9:04 pm
The old house was sold as of 1:30 this afternoon.
The new house was bought as of 4:30 this afternoon.
I am so tired I can’t believe it. I’m sure my levels of uselessness will be astounding for the next few days.
I currently have two new loves of my life: PODs and our mortgage guy (If you want his name, email me and I’ll give it to you. Talk about hustling. He made what normally happens in two months happen in two weeks.)
This will mark poor Ross’s third night of sleeping on floors. He spent Tuesday and Wednesday sleeping in the old empty house with the dogs. Tonight he will sleep in the new empty house, also with the dogs (who are thoroughly confused and probably completely scarred, what with all the back and forth over the last few days). Meanwhile, I’ve been residing in a lovely guest room (let’s be honest, it’s more like a suite) at my in-laws’ house with my own bathroom, TV, and lots and lots of pillows.
I drove back and forth between my in-laws’ house and other various locations for a total of about six times today. I think I’ve used as much gas in one day that I did all of last month.
I have no clue what day it is.
Our new front door automatically locks when it shuts. I predict several incidents of me locking myself out of the house while the new baby is left inside.
I’m watching an episode of True Life and a girl is talking her boyfriend about how she didn’t sleep the night before because she was worrying about her very real financial and familial problems. He is less than sympathetic:
“I didn’t sleep last night.”
“Well, who’s fault is that?”
“It’s no one’s fault. I just don’t sleep.”
“You just need to relax is all.”
This girl is a kinder, more patient person than me, because she just responds with a sigh. I would have responded with a punch in the face. While I have virtually no physical symptoms of anxiety since switching jobs, I have strong memories of how it felt. It’s frustrating. It’s crippling. And no one wants to feel that way.
A person with anxiety knows that he or she needs to relax. Pointing this out only makes them feel inadequate, not comforted.
Consider some of these alternatives:
“Why do you think you’re having such a hard time relaxing?”
“Is there anything I can do to help you out?”
or, best of all…
“I’m sorry you’re having a hard time. I love you.”
As my impending doom is the subject of much commentary on this here Internets, I thought I’d clarify something.
I am not afraid of pain. At all. In fact, I have a pretty high threshold for pain. Any yelps or tears come from not knowing what’s going or being startled. The thing I’m afraid of is not knowing exactly what’s going to happen in a situation.
This might stem from my slight tendency to demand complete control over everything. Maybe.
When I got my tattoo, the only thing that made me nervous was not knowing how *much* it was going to hurt. I knew it was going to hurt because, hello, it’s a tattoo, but I was constantly asking for a comparison. Like tetanus shot or cat scratch? Incidentally, he said “A cat scratch over and over again for an hour.” And he was correct.
A couple years ago, I had a mole removed from my belly. I asked the doctor to just make sure he explained everything was doing and give me an estimate of the pain. He told me the numbing agent would feel like a bee sting and that during the actual removal, I would just feel pressure and then pulling. Again, correct.
On the other side, when I had my ovarian nightmare this summer, that pain was neither expected nor understood. I did not expect to blackout while sitting across from Mary at Starlite and I didn’t understand why an invisible hot poker was stabbing me in my abdomen as I sat crying in Patient First. Once I knew what was going on, everything was manageable.
I just can picture myself during childbirth…
“So, will it be like a watermelon covered in fire? Or acid? Or fire and acid?”
I started to feel it at around 4:30 this afternoon: the feeling of dread that suffocated me for almost two years.
I managed to shake it off until I got home. Then Ross asked me to do something in a non-friendly tone (not because he was being mean, but because he was in the middle of cooking dinner while a puddle was forming on our kitchen floor) and I found myself in tears. But just for a minute. And that’s the difference between then and now.
Now, rather than sinking into it like I used to (and taking to my bed like I used to), I’m pissed.
Now, I refuse to buy into it.
Now, I’m choosing to push through it, every minute and every day until it’s gone again. The more I do it, the fewer and farther between these spells are.
insanity — Valerie on November 29, 2007 at 7:55 pm
Today I had a bona fide rant about people failing to use the serial comma. To multiple people. And then I realized I was insane.*
I am a rabid supporter of this neglected punctuation mark. Guys, it’s important. Look at these two sentences modeled after book dedication (a variation of which appears in the wikipedia entry, but also happens to be the example I frequently use when arguing the issue):
“To my parents, George Washington and God.”
versus
“To my parents, George Washington, and God.”
That, my friends, is a HUGE difference.
I’m not asking you to change your habits, but I do want you to realize that if I see you failing to use it, part of my soul dies. If you’re ok with that being on your head, then go along your merry-and-unspecific way.
*I am aware of at least one person who would feel equally passionate about this, whether she agrees with me on it or not.
You guys. Something awesome is happening tomorrow. Something that will change everything for everyone, now and forever. But I’m not going to tell you what it is. Yet.
Me? I was in bed watching it live on the television. Take a gander at this. Your mind will be blown so make sure you are wearing a hat to collect the bits-they can be hard to get out of the drapes.
I was the one that pointed out that the cartoon, talking igneous rock in today’s Science video looked like a piece of poop.
I was offered a piece of chocolate today and TURNED IT DOWN.
In the car on the way home from the gym I head Lionel Richie’s “Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady” and started bawling.
I am completely obsessed with the proper functioning of the folding door I just installed. Like to the point where I bet I won’t sleep tonight.
I have a very hard time *not* sharing with Ross what I learn during my kids’ family life classes, such as the difference between sperm and semen. That’s right. I just said sperm and semen.
Best Diarist “I feel like I know Valerie like a best friend. I think if I saw her in Ukrop’s, I’d be compelled to ask how Ross’s birthday was. Does she have a clue who I am? No.”
