I used to be full of life. My eyes were bag-free, I fit into my jeans, I laughed, I went out with friends. That was only last month, but I can kiss that kind of carefree life goodbye because I bought a house.
Seriously, WHY do we think buying a house is such a great idea? Who started this rumor? I bet it was the Republicans. They are always trying to beat us down with the old "it's un-American" guilt trip. "Tell them that spending three times their annual salary on an item that will take them 30 years to pay off and will suck up all their free time and certainly any energy they might have is the American Dream! They'll never go on vacation again and all their money will land in our pockets! We'll own their souls!" "I don't know," Cheney chimed in, "that doesn't really sound awful enough. I know! Why don't we also discourage insurance companies from covering therapy sessions? Mwahahahaha."
Another person who I'm no longer too fond of said recently, "Just be glad you bought a house that is move-in ready."
Move-in ready?? I don't think so! I am dealing with floor people, paint people, cleaning people, moving people, delivery people and, soon I hope, psychiatrist people. My people have people. I have so many people. And of course this doesn't include all the work people who have already made it their life goal to see that I never sleep soundly again.
Just when I think I have one thing taken care of, can make that satisfying CHECK on my long list of to-do's, it gets undone and creates several more. To-do's spawn like devil rabbits when you buy a house. The whole of last weekend was spent buying a guest bed and returning it. We wound up after 8 laborious hours - 8 hours which we absolutely cannot spare right now - in the very same place we started. It's a long and not very interesting story, but basically we bought a bed which could not be delivered so we strapped it to the roof of the car with about 3,000 bungie cords that my husband always has on him just in case (no I'm not kidding) and then drove it to the house where we braved the driveway and actually managed to get the car up it, unloaded the bed, deposited it in the house, went back to the apartment to resume packing where we received a call from the store that we'd been given the wrong hardware for the bed and that no, they didn't have the right hardware to give us. So... reverse above, ending the day with no bed and nothing else done, either.
Well, at least the painter was well underway and the upstairs looked fabulous. But... Tom called me from the house yesterday morning to let me know the floor guy hadn't shown up (which didn't do much to help the gastro-intestinal issues I've developed in the last couple of weeks) oh and incidentally did I mean for the master bedroom to be baby blue? Not that he couldn't live with it but... NO the master was not supposed to be baby blue! It was supposed to be a subtle gray. SO... back to the house for an emergency meeting with the painter while my cell phone rang itself hoarse as, apparently, the entire working world ground to a hault because I'd had the audacity to leave my desk for an hour.
This whole situation has me in knots. I have so many balls in the air I can't see even a piece of sky. I am completely scatter-brained. I don't know how people who have kids manage to buy houses without losing their jobs. Thank God I don't have any kids - at least, I don't think I do, since I'm not remembering much these days - because I would accidentally pack them or forget to feed them or something. As it is I feel like my head is going to explode. I am answering messages people never left and not answering messages people did leave. My friend asked me today why I hadn't responded to her email and I seriously had no idea what she was talking about. Meanwhile earlier this week I told another good friend how sorry I was to hear she was sick and she replied, "I'm sick?" I could have sworn she sent me a text saying she was sick, but no such text existed.
It's a little alarming, to say the least. I used to be really on top of things, back when I didn't have bags under my eyes and could fit into my jeans. My jeans... shit. I seem to have left them at home again. No wonder I'm getting such weird looks at the office.
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