Anxiety Archive

The Dates

Posted June 9, 2012 By kmarrs

All the necessary dates we’ve been missing for this move are in.

Dad is out this coming Monday.  June 11, to be exact.

We close June 29th.  We have to be 100% out of our current apartment July 4th.

We were hoping to have the summer to move slowly but it isn’t going to happen that way.

This makes things more stressful but it’ll happen.  We do just want to get it over with, after all.

I lose internet at some point between the 15th and the 4th.  We are disconnecting here and being sure we are 100% square with the bill then reconnecting at the new place.  I’ll let you know, closer to the point I actually lose it, the exact day it goes down.

As for the DBT series I’m planning.  I don’t think starting it this Tuesday will work.  First, long gap of space I won’t have internet to work on it.  I can type them all now and schedule them out, but right now I need to focus on packing.  There is a lot of crap to pack that needed to wait until we had confirmed dates.

So here is to the beginning of one of the most stressful months of recent times.  Bare with me and stick around.  Hopefully I’ll come out the other end happier and with a kick-ass series on DBT to premier!

Be the first to comment

Ours

Posted June 6, 2012 By kmarrs

The bank kept their word.  We nodded in approval at what was left for us to do.  Nothing we couldn’t do with our own bare hands, the 3 of us.

The contract is in place as it was.  Papers will be signed within the month I’d imagine.  The key will be handed over.

There is still work to do before we can move in, but boxes can trickle in, in the meantime.  Then one weekend in July or August a truck will be rented and the bulk will leave here and end there.

I had the option to see if a week ago.  I decided against it.  Many reasons but the primary is I’m scared.  I’m scared I won’t be in love with it.  I’ll like it.  It’s not here.  It has a yard.  A park across the street.  3 bedrooms.  But not going to lie, I’m more in love with what I’ve heard and seen of the outside than what I’ve heard and seen of the inside.  And well, we are in no position to back out.  At all.  I don’t even want to back out.  I’m just scared that second thoughts will lead to irrational thoughts.

I mean the house, now that it’s fixed, is awesome.  It’s just not huge.  And right now, while the kids are little still, it is plenty big enough.  But, my kids are only getting bigger.  And the house is not growing with it.

But I need to remind myself that, well, 10 years from now, Thomas will be graduating high school.  My kids are growing every day.  Growing to take up space.  But growing to enter the world and take over their own space, out from under my roof.

Sure, we can live in this house for awhile and then get something even bigger maybe in 5 years.  But in 18 years, as my Sammy leaves our nest for college, it’ll just be me and Pat.  And for many years that follow, it’ll just be me and Pat.  So exactly how much space do we really need in the long run?

So I asked Pat the big question.

While he can’t promise or guarantee, and I’m not asking him to.  Does he see us chasing our Grandbabies in that front yard 20 years from now.  And he does.  And I can house plenty of Grandbabies in those 2, by then spare, bedrooms during weekend retreat to visit Mamaw and Papaw

And while the basement is not a suitable living space now, though perfect for storage, should 15 year old Thomas choose to turn it into a bedroom, one would imagine the funds will be there to make that possible.  And a 15-year-old boy will have more open minded living restrictions than a child or an adult wanting to play or sleep there.  So no, it isn’t a place for me to sleep.  So no, it isn’t a place for the kids to have a playroom.  But it very well can be a place for 15-year-old Thomas to escape sharing a room with his brother, once some work has been done.  And that’s in 6 years.  Surely work can be done between now and 6 years from now.

So my rational mind is just scared.  It isn’t really about if this house is perfect.  If I will grow old here.  It’s more about the fact we are finding the place we very well may choose to grow in.  And I’m starting to doubt that being about space, as much as it’s about finality.  Because as we faced losing this house, I realized exactly how much I wanted this house.

Just don’t ask me to be brave enough to see it before I step foot in it.  Because it’s too late to back out.  I don’t want to back out.  And once things are final, my rational mind will be better equipped to kick in and kick ass.

No house is perfect.  Except ours.  Our home will be perfect.  And it’s high time I went home.

2 Comments so far. Join the Conversation

Encouraged, Discouraged

Posted May 30, 2012 By kmarrs

I want to write, but my ability feels stifled by should and shouldn’t. So at some point you just have to say fuck it, and write to keep from bursting at the seams.

First, I may be going for a promotion at work. It’s the most basic of promotions: full-time. But, it’s a step up none-the-less. It isn’t even for sure the position will be open. And if it is, it will be offered company wide. I’ll have to apply and interview. But with my manager saying she’d wave the 1-year of employment recommendation before full-time is offered, I guess I have some chance. I suppose it boils down to who all applies. I’m a contender, but if someone is more or better qualified, well they’d be an asset to our team.

The whole house hunt thing isn’t going too well.

Where we left off, the house we (Jesse) are in contract with, failed the first inspection miserably. But the bank went “Oh Shit! We’ll fix it all!” and we’re like “OK, we can wait out repairs.” Well, on the list of failures, there were some Jesse could fix easily enough, but there were some he couldn’t and any one of those alone were deal breakers. Well the bank has declared themselves done and another inspection has been done. And it did not pass. One of the huge deal breakers wasn’t even touched. So the bank that is selling is being re-approached. And if they don’t take care of it like they said they would, deal is off.

The thing is, Jesse is going through a lot of shit now besides this and the stress of buying this house for us, is not helping. Especially since his physical health is involved. And he just does not right now have what it takes to start the process over. And he shouldn’t have to. It isn’t his job to put a roof over our heads. His offer was wonderful. But not at the cost of his health. While he is still fighting for this house, if it falls through…

We will have to move to plan C. Which is actually back to plan A. And that won’t involve Jesse.

What I am pissed off over, is that if the bank that is selling hadn’t told us every damn thing was going to be fixed, we would have spent all of April and May seeking another house. Or, an apartment. Or something. We were dumb, I guess. But they said they had everything covered. We were in contract. And we’re tired. Really really tired. So we assumed things being fixed, meant things were being fixed. There was even a list involved.

So I guess if this falls through, we’ll figure out a 3 bedroom apartment somewhere for a few years until Pat and I can use a tax return to plop down a down payment. And since it will be a home loan, and not an investment loan, that technically means more house for the down, or less down needed. So long run, this might be better. Once we figure out the meantime.

And we will figure out the meantime.

Or the bank will follow through on their word and we’ll get this house.

Something.

But we have basically until Sammy’s first birthday to figure it out. That’s around the time our lease is up.

Speaking of, it’s officially the 30th of May and my baby is now 9-months-old.

So much has changed in this past year. So much has become awesome. We’ve been on an upswing after a long, drawn out downswing. Hopefully our luck will hold and this next move will be amazing.

If nothing else, should I be made full-time at work, we’ll be able to put more towards rent.

Be the first to comment

Running Out of Time

Posted April 23, 2012 By kmarrs

It’s silly, I know.  I’m 28 and have many years ahead of me.  Yet, I can’t shake this feeling that I’m running out of time to figure out where I’m going in this current life on Earth.

Deciding what I want to study in school is nice and all, but pointless if I’m not actually doing it.  The last time I was in a class, Luke was, well, younger than Sammy.  He is 4 now.  Nearing 4 1/2.

I’m suppose to be taking classes this summer, but they are being pushed aside so I can move.  Which is, actually, the reason the last set of classes I tried for got pushed aside.  I little less than 4 years ago.

How much longer before the planets align and I make this education thing happen?  Do I need to just hold my breath, plug my nose, squeeze both eyes shut, and jump in to sink or swim?

And just as I’m on the brink of maybe for once knowing at least which education pool I’m jumping into, another fork in the road is stumbled upon.  I really, really love the idea of the two year in small business management followed by economics.  It just sounds so fulfilling to me.  And the business is a solid foundation no matter what.

But now, my job is pulling at another side of me.  A long held pipe dream of being paid to be creative is coming to life before my eyes.  I’ve been paid to kick off my shoes and write a poem.  I’m designing newsletters and flier hand-outs.  Immediate and not so immediate supervisors and managers are abuzz about what this could mean for me.  Where I could be going.  Hired in as teller, but stolen away by marketing?

Oh hey!  You know, you should get a degree in graphic design!

Yeah, but I don’t really want one…

But if you are this good now, just think of what you could do with proper training!

But… Economics…

But logically… I mean… it’s work.  And they think I should go for this.  So that I can get a kick-ass, high paying job that will allow me to support my family by being creative!  How does one argue that?

Except, if this doesn’t work out, grads of a graphic design degree are a dime a dozen and the work is scarce.

An economics degree… those grads are being snagged up like the most precious commodity and handed family sustaining jobs right off the graduation stage.

One just seems a little more secure to me.  Even if the current company I work for has interest in the other.  And well, frankly, they could put my economics degree to damn good use to.  It isn’t like I have only one possible path with this company.

At least economics sounds fun to me?  I mean, Maths! Algebra!  Equations where the letters out number the numbers!  I love this stuff!

And graphic design?  I have Photoshop, and don’t shoot me here, but I don’t really like it.  I’m not into photo editing.  I’m into reality being reality.  The camera captures the soul of the person.  Photo editing removes it.  Sure, I’ll resize, maybe crop.  But then, I shoot how I want things cropped, so not even usually then.

But the feeling of kicking off my shoes and writing that poem, on the clock, and leaving the branch in awe…

But then, we didn’t even win a damn thing in the contest.

So where does this leave me?

And does it even matter if I can’t get myself into a class?

2 Comments so far. Join the Conversation

Fears

Posted April 14, 2012 By kmarrs

I think I am finally starting to realize why I haven’t been reading blogs much anymore.

So many (not all) of my favorite blogs are written by women who have lost babies/children or who have extremely ill children, who weren’t necessarily born so.  Honestly, they often are some of the most passionate and even well-rounded writers.  That loss or struggle or real life awakening makes them who they are and they tend to be very worth reading.

But my biggest fear in life right now, besides being accidentally locked in the vault at work overnight*, is losing Sammy.

I didn’t fear this like this with the boys.  I don’t know what it is.  She is perfectly, wonderfully healthy. Maybe I fear girl parts make her more fragile?  Maybe it’s because I’ve been planning her existence specifically for 2.5 decades now?  (I had her name picked out when I was 2-years-old for Pete’s sake.)  Maybe because she should have been impossible in so very many ways?  Maybe I just wasn’t reading blogs, like I do now, when the boys were younger so I was blissfully unaware of how things can go wrong?

I don’t love her any more or any less than I love the boys.  But I fear losing her unlike I have ever feared anything ever.

It doesn’t build to a paranoia.  I can keep myself in check.  I know I’m being silly to have that extent of a fear.

But when I’m reading a blog that speaks of losing a life way too young.  Before steps are taken.  Before Graduation stages are walked across.  Even just pre-school ones.  I just have this fear fill me, starting in the pit of my stomach, but growing until it fills me head to toe.  And I have to look away.  I don’t love those blogs any less.  In fact, I almost love them more because they have lived what I so strongly fear.

But right now, I just can’t read it.

So, let’s try this again after we get Sammy past her first birthday.

*Yes I have a fear of being locked in a vault over night.  Any rational person would.  Those things are on a timer.  Co-workers can’t just go crap and open it right back up if they’ve set it.  They set it before it closes.  They lock it before it closes.  (Good news is, only co-workers can actually do this.  Sorry would be robbers.  Or serial bank teller killers.)  Vaults have about 12 hours worth of air.  If I get locked in 5:30PM on any given week night, I’m not making it until 8AM the following morning.  God forbid it happen on a Saturday.  I’d be freed Monday.  A tad more than 12 hours, don’t you think?  This is a purely rational fear.  I don’t understand one bit why my husband, and co-workers find it hysterical.  Rational.  Also?  No food or bathroom.  RA-TION-AL!

2 Comments so far. Join the Conversation

I Picked A Hell Of A Time

Posted March 24, 2012 By kmarrs

For months I was only on the one med so that if/when postpartum hit I’d be ready.  For months I took my Cymbalta because I might get sad around the end of February.

February came and went, but the sads never showed their face.

Oh I had my moments but they were all life moments.  Easily enough explained and dealt with.  Not reasons to pop a pill.

So 2 weeks ago when it came time to refill my script for the pills that beat the sads that never showed, I asked if we could skip that part of the appointment.  We had talked along of me going off meds once I was in the clear.  Why wait?  I was/am doing tremendous.  So, I went off meds.

This week I have:
Started my menstrual cycle, which always makes for wholesome hormonal goodness.
Went off caffeine cold turkey.
Gone to put on a skirt that fit me at 9-months pregnant but apparently doesn’t fit me now.  This week anyways.

Oh hey, we may have found a house if everything goes as planned.  Though, of course, moving is fun.  Plus, 30 year mortgage is a bit of a weight.  Good, but still heavy.
Had to inform my Grandmother that her son will be homeless in 2 months.
Had my father assault my husband.
Been made to feel numerous times, by people I can trust, that I’m not good enough and/or I can’t do anything right.
Made the first car payment.
Realized exactly how fun the next year of car payments will be.
Destroyed my left ankle.  6 days and it’s still fucked.
Left Band Back Together.  Not because it’s what I’ve wanted to do but because it’s what I had to do.  Drama free aside from broken heart(s).
Found out that a good friend who is deeply cared about by the whole family has Crohn’s disease.  Which isn’t fatal, usually.  As long as you stick to a diet.
Had to search every random corner of my life for pads because my period started 4 days sooner than it should have which means I didn’t make it to the paycheck.
Realized that despite me being sterile now, I have 30ish more years of buying tampons and pads so that I can go through a process that is pointless.

So this week… This week it looks like, based on my mood, that maybe I shouldn’t have gone off my meds.  However I’m not sure how any of the above can be fixed by me taking a pill.  (Some of it could be fixed by someone else who shall remain nameless but apparently has had a known diagnosis of exactly what I figured for years now but doesn’t choose to see it as a problem…)  Fine.  Maybe it could help me cope?  But when you aren’t searching and aiming for my buttons/last nerve, I’m coping pretty well.  Even if that means crashing into bed at 7PM.  But then, sometimes that sleep can be very healing.  When following a day as a functioning working adult.

3 Comments so far. Join the Conversation