I have so many things to keep track of that I fear my head might explode. My three weeks of peaceful solitude (kids off on their own respective adventures) just might turn into three weeks of packing up the stepford house. We seem to have a buyer. Just Fuck It.
I'm in mourning for my me time, utopian me time.
I have to come to terms with the fact that I am never going to get a break. Ever.
Ever.
Ever. Like in my whole life. I am just not meant to have it easy. It's one disaster to the next for me. No break for me. I have to let that dream go. Fly away dream! Be free dream! Life can just keep pounding on my back. I accept my fate.
I can pray for a length of time without a crisis but it isn't going to happen. I can pray for some time to focus only on myself, but it isn't going to happen, I can pray for strength, but dammit, I appear to be chock full of that because look at me people? I'm still standing!!
It turns out that the husband has two fractured ribs. He took a tumble a couple of weeks ago and despite my repeated suggestion that he seek medical care he did not seek medical care until today. Did it matter? Not entirely because there is nothing to do for fractured ribs. The husband is, however, now in possession of a (federally regulated controlled substance) little orange pharmacy jar of (hopefully) the ability to sleep at night. Please, lord, let the man sleep tonight.
I hate the buyers. I have never seen or heard the buyers, but they tried to play hardball with us over the price of the house and now I think the buyers are slimy weasels. They wanted us to include a chunk of our furniture in the price of the house. Ridiculous. Idiots. I am having evil fantasies that I shall not speak out loud or type silently, just in case the thoughts come true. If I don't say them aloud I can't be a suspect. I hope. I just pray the inspection does not turn anything up. If it does, well, no surprise there, it's how things go down for me. If it doesn't, well then I won't believe we are actually closing this house until I am rolling around naked in wads of money like the chick from American Dream was in red flowers. Oh wait. And then there is the bank. Dammit. They are going to want their money back. See? I never get the break. I'm gonna have to get red flowers.
Matt graduated. I'm trying to compartmentalize my deep to the bone sorrow over his leaving us forever and just be happy for him. Not being entirely successful. What the hell did I waste my time and energy raising this fine human being for when all that is going to happen is he is going to go out there into the world and ditch us? I mean, hello?, I'm the mother, I'll never get the credit I deserve for him. I should have been a slacker mother. They get to have adult fun all of the time and then when their kids grow up and dessert them they have other things to do anyway.
I can't believe I'm not going to have any me time. Sucks.
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