They say that the three most stressful things in our cushy middle class existence is marriage, moving and buying a house. (Who’s “they”, I hear certain friends asking? I don’t know, they! the faceless, cliché spouting masses, okay?) Well, I would like to add to that the deadly threesome, the diabolic trinity of moving two houses into one, buying said house, and gutting it. Oh yeah, with visitors. Now, most people who know me would not go so far as to call me easy going. ‘Cause that would be a lie. My day can be ruined by the scissors not being at the right place at the right time, which happens fairly frequently since I have two kids and a husband with no respect for putting stuff away. Oh, I am likeable in my own gruff way, but easy going I am not.
So needless to say, in this month when I have had no living space, no control over my home or my children, no actual satisfaction of banging the walls down with my husband and sister-in-law since I have to go to work, I have been a bit crabby. Add to that a faulty internet connection (I am writing this really fast before it craps out again) and I have left all semblance of grace and dignity behind and have just started growling at people. Now it doesn’t seem like much, but not being able to access the internet on a reliable basis has been making me distinctly edgy. The last straw on the proverbial camel’s back so to speak.
So here is the Know thyself part:
- I accept that I do not just have a personal space bubble. Mine is more like a tiled gazebo with wrought iron fencing and terracotta roof tiles. Don’t come in. You are not welcome.
- Having wall to wall mirrors in the house has begun to affect my sanity. Everywhere I look, I am confronted with myself. It is like being in a terrifying spiritual maze that you are not sufficiently enlightened to complete.
- I like having floors. You know, the kind you can walk on. That are solid. That don’t resemble level six in aztec challenge where the primitive graphic of aztec man had to leap over the abysses…
- I NEED INTERNET. Let’s face it people. Not having it while camping is okay. Having only limited access to it when travelling is okay too. Not having it at home for work, business, bills, etc. NOT OKAY. My service provider will be getting a very angry phone call this morning.
- I like spending time with my kids. And I haven’t. The summer is half over and I have stuck them in camp for three of those weeks. Yeah, they had their cousins here, but they were all left to play among the rusty debris of the renovations.
- I don’t work when I am too busy. Not to go too far with the human as cyborg analogy, but my brain short circuits. There is literally an error message that appears on my forehead (usually in the form of a big pimple) and steam comes out of my ears.
- My marriage depends a lot on my keeping my mouth shut. Which has been hard lately. This post is actually a covert apology to my husband who has been putting up with some serious negative energy emanating from me. Um, sorry.
I see the bars on my wireless connection fluctuate so I better get this in quick. Suffice it to say, it has been a very Nietschean (?) summer:
Whatever doesn’t kill you….
makes you stronger?
just makes you nauseous?
will seriously maim you?
makes you behave like a bitch?
All of the above?
I leave it to you to decide.
Lina Branter 
I also hate not having things in their homes. It drives me nuts. And I always tend to blame my roommate/wife for the missing thing. Generally I find that it was me that decided to bring the thing in question outside so I could get a bit of sun while I did something with the thing.Maybe the world would be better for spazs like us if everything had those chains that pens come on in the banks. Do they still have those? I only visit the machine now. My bank has no human face for me.
Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you nauseated. Although in this case, whatever doesn’t kill you makes you nauseaus…I think that will work as well.Whatever doesn’t kill you will taunt and torture you.Whatever doesn’t kill you will still make you bleed.Whatever doesn’t kill you scars you.Whatever doesn’t kill you leaves you handicapped.As Mr. Grapefruit has shared with us, I also always blame my roommate/husband for the missing thing. The tension in the household with all this ununttered blame is ripe for a fancy explosion.
I also hate it when things aren’t where they’re supposed to be, but I have noone else to blame it on, except maybe the dog. But he doesn’t respond except by giving me a quizical look with those sad brown eyes of his.I’ve heard that renovations are the worst thing in the world. I have also heard that anything that doesn’t kill you is a gift. You know like the people that say illness is a gift. THAT makes me nauseated, homocidal even.Sounds like you’re on the edge. You need to do something nice for yourself. And I will write you a letter. At least there will be something other than junk mail in the mailbox. (I will try not to make the letter resemble junk).Love you more than I can say,Auntie Diane
I am so with you. I actually have a JOB that revolves around the idea that everything needs to be in its proper place.I’m grumbling along with you with empathy!