04/11/2017 by syrbal-labrys
Posting has been very light of late. Life has been hellishly hectic. So much going on that the me utterly used to maxing points on so-called stress tests is about to peg out and fall down. So much shit is hitting my fan that I actually expect the local weather to report shitstorms.
The project to transform the garage into living quarters for the next four years or so, while our returning Marine goes to school? It is basically done. They are there. They are broke to the point of me buying groceries (and presently cooking most of — which I hate like everything) until his G.I. Bill stipend kicks in — that comes AFTER the first month of classes, of course. Apparently, signing up FOR school is not sufficient proof of (life and) intent or NEED for funds.
The roof leak is still covered with a lovely, stylish blue tarp. I just haven’t the energy to try dealing with it yet.
The gardens are unweeded and getting out of control. I bought a garden flame thrower to try catching up soon. Experiments in warfare gardening should provide entertainment?
The heat stove is still working, but must be replaced before winter since it is barely functional at best. I have also not gotten the energy to find, finance, and set up THAT change and expense.
My living room carpet needs cleaned. Another bill, another phone call and hurry up and wait for the necessary persons to show up.
Moving a chair dropped a couple beer caps AND a couple gummy bears on the floor. Well, there is childhood/manhood encapsulated, no? The cat chased the beer caps; the dogs gobbled gummy bears.
My husband had a major issue this month and retail therapy’d us into a large debt for a very nice, very costly, very unnecessary car. He played his normally valid PTSD card to justify buying a costly new version of a car we ALREADY own in older bill-free version to replace his suddenly terrifying VW. I am freaking out and hearing the “Chicago” song about “murder but not a crime” in my head constantly. The car is lovely. The bill is not. I am horrified and having nightmares about financial insolvency. Why is it states will tell women they can’t manage reproductive choices w/o a husband’s permission, but he is allowed to create whatever financial chaos he wants on the merest impulse?
We are awaiting the news about his neurological testing to find out if he is having some sort of cognitive issues. I am also stressing the fuck out over this. (It turned out fine; he is having memory issues due to poor sleep quality and pain management issues.)
Finally, a sensible injunction against shoes in the house has been instituted. It is a good thing. But again, the doing is a terrific additional stress pain in my ass just now. Living in slippers makes me feel strangely incompetent just now.
Fuck it all. Why did I NOT buy a flask when I saw them at a store. Gods know, I could use something to stiffen my nerve and deaden my aching spine right about now?