High strung.

High strung

I think I'm ready to snap. I'm so tightly wound. I settled down in bed the other night only to find myself thinking, "FALL ASLEEP NOW, DAMN IT" but barely being able to hear that thought due to all the others. I'm going to go ahead and bullet out all the sources of stress for you guys. Yay!

My church. It's kind of hard for me to talk about this stuff here, but it's really taking a toll on me. I'm trying to remain diplomatic and Everyone's Favorite Senior Warden, but it's almost time for me to start breaking people's comfort zones about leadership and direction and money. Also, we're like $40k in the hole. This is nothing compared to other financial quandaries of other organizations, not to mention the pick-up in church giving that occurs in November and December, but it's tough right now for our little family.

My work. Yeah, I'm pretty much not going to elaborate.

Selling our condo. We just decided to get a realtor to list the place, because we were wasting so much time sitting at open houses, and also not being very effective. We would like to get this shit sold so that we can stop paying two mortgages and move into our sweet little dream house ASAP. However, the realtor came over the other night and gave us a to-do list which involves planting things on the patio. There is no time! I think she might come over and plant gladiolas out there while we're sleeping - she's that kind of woman.

Fixing up the new house. Sometimes I'm glad that we have a blank slate ahead of us, and we can ensure that things are appropriately restored, not McMansionly remodelled. But fucking A. We tried to design a new kitchen cabinet layout the other day, and I almost walked out. I DON'T KNOW IF I NEED 3 DRAWERS IN THAT CORNER OR JUST CABINETS AND ONE DRAWER OR WHAT! Stop pressuring me! I want someone to stand in the kitchen and understand what I want and then make the best decisions about drawer placement for standard work flow. Or something. And I wish they made skinnier fridges.

Fixing up the new house, part two. Our tile guy broke up with us, and we're trying desperately to find another contractor. The bathroom walls have to be ripped out almost completely on the lower tiled segments, to allow for a fresh coat of concrete liner and tile. I know this is a daunting task, but someone has to be up for the challenge or at least up for calling me back. The most recommended contractor called me in the evening yesterday, after we had planned on a "late afternoon" informal meeting in the bathroom (bwah), and asked if we could meet on Monday instead. I just want to move in! Maybe we will make sure the toilet is set up during remodelling, and just run over to Erik's sister's house in the mornings to shower. I'm that ready.

My car. It's screaming at me. It's more of a squeal, when I idle. I'm almost sure it's a fan belt something or other. I'm fully sure it's annoying and scary. Today, however, my Manipulating Since Three Years Old (tm John) tactics scored me Erik's car for my commute. He has the day off.

My body. I would like a retrofit please. Mine is pathetic. It's getting better, but I just am so tired of two periods a month or random inexplicable breakouts or hives or whatever or pesky IT bands. Also, last night, the TV taught me that I have Restless Leg Syndrome and all I have to do is take one pill a day for the rest of my life and I'll be able to relax. I've dealt with my stupid feet and lower legs not being able to relax if I'm too tired of on too long of a drive for my entire life. At least as long as I can remember. I recall as a four year old or something, watching my dad rip of his shoes to squeeze his rugby/hockey-wounded foot, and was instantly relieved that everyone had the same problems. Later on, I mentioned this to my dad, and he explained that he had broken his foot more than once and it acts up every so often. I then realized, having never played rugby, that my feet were just naturally and abnormally annoying. Sometimes I have to tuck my feet under Erik when he's sleeping, because having 180 pounds of human being crushing them makes them feel a little better. But hey, I'm totally not about to pop a pill a day. I'm sure the days you don't take the drugs are far, far worse than the baseline pre-drug. Of course, that's just my inner hippie talking. Anyway, at this point it's all way more than I can fit in a 15 minute doctor's appointment, so I'm just going to move on.

The internet. Why can't we be nicer? Why would we write mean things publically that we would never imagine saying out loud in front of other people in real life?

People who are stressed out about bird flu. Seriously, if you're that paranoid, don't eat a fucking turkey for thanksgiving. That makes me happy, at least.

In a nutshell, that is where I've been. It's been a lachrymose week and my precious local NPR station is on a fundraising drive and is thus useless to me. IS EVERYONE OUT TO GET ME?

Alright. I feel better. You?