Life anxiety makes me feel like we’re being shot out of a cannon after waiting in the barrel for a million years.
We’ve been working so long on getting the house ready to sell that it felt endless. I started believing I was in purgatory. With a few forays into hell. Spilling the gallon of paint on the floor is still hard to think about.
Turns out, when you work your ass off for months, you do begin to see progress.
We still have a shit ton to do, but we’ve downgraded from a fuck ton of work. I am hoping to winnow the work down to a crap ton by next Monday.
We plan on listing our house in mid April. It’s likely that the house will sell fast. Perhaps, in a matter of a few days.
Holy fucking shit, you guys. Holy shit.
We have to find a place to buy and maybe find a temporary place to live.
Of course, there is the work anxiety.
I have an upgrade to do on our credit card system and feel like I am inching toward the guillotine every day. Sunday night is when I die a slow, horrible, painful death. You would think death by guillotine would be quick and painless, but no. My guillotine isn’t sharp or well maintained. It’s rusty and jagged and won’t actually cut my head off, but I’ll get tetanus and die from lock jaw.
I don’t even know about lock jaw. I just know, when I was little, my dad used to talk about lock jaw all the time and the thought disturbed me.
There is literally no reason at all to be worried. This is just a little software patch the credit card company requires. There is no reason to think anything will go wrong.
I haven’t been able to properly swallow in days.
I wish I were different. I don’t want to feel this way all the goddamn time. It’s exhausting.
I hate it when it’s hard to swallow because then I know my life anxiety is bad.
Then I get scared that I’m shaving years off my life. Stress kills, yo.
It occurs to me, the work stress I feel now is no more or no less than the stress I have felt at every single job I’ve had since Randy and I first got together nearly 23 years ago. 9 jobs, you guys. I have had 9 jobs since Randy and I have been together. I tortured myself over every single goddamn one of them.
If nothing else, I am consistent.
I’m trying to turn my head around a little because I don’t have time for this shit. I don’t. We have too much work to do in the house and my job isn’t going to get less stressful anytime soon.
I do not have time to be this anxious.
I do not even want to think about those thin, cold, black tendrils of depression I feel poking around in my head leaving pinpricks of numb spots in their wake.
I don’t have time for this.
So, I am consistent.
I considered what else has been consistent. What else can I count on that feels good instead of making me feel like crying?
The way I feel when Randy rubs the curve of my right shoulder blade versus my left one because he knows I get a huge knot in the right one. He knows when I rhythmically rub my feet together, I am either super anxious or my stomach hurts. Sometimes both. Usually both. He will stroke my arms or the back of my neck until I fall asleep. He tells me everything will be okay when I need to hear those words. And he is patient when I am impatient when he doesn’t say the precise words I want to hear.
Randy is consistent.
No matter how my anxiety has tortured me at work, I survived every time. I have a 100% survival rate.
No matter the job. No matter how my brain tortures me, I am still here. I will be here next Monday morning. I know I will. I’m nearly positive. We will sell our house and move. We might have the inconvenience of finding temporary housing, but we will move.
Thank the stars Randy is here, too. He helps me get to the next day. I think I help him as well.
Although, selling a house is not easy when the two people selling are impatient, stubborn, and want things done a certain way. We debate things ranging from replacing all the carpet to when it’s appropriate to throw a box away.
I figure this blog post is a sort of love letter to Randy. He can refer back to it and read the ways I appreciate him the next time we discuss, again, what color to paint the vent cover in the bathroom.
The correct answer is white. The goddamn ceiling is white, why wouldn’t we paint the vent cover on the ceiling white? Why?