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7:50 p.m. - 2012-04-12
Get in line and stop bitching, willya?

I honestly had to check the date icon in the corner of my screen just now to see what day it is. It's been THAT nutty around here. No time to think. No peace. No privacy. And so far this spring break there's been not a single day where I even got to finish my first cup of coffee before I was in tears. Not everything has been bullshit and frantic putting out fires, but enough of it has. More than enough. It's felt like I had my old life back. The sucktastic old life where everything was mess and fights and my stress levels were off the chart. The muscles in the back of my neck are so hard and knotted right now they creak when I turn my head.

I know it's temporary and that by the 21st or so I'll be out from under and will have some quiet again. So there's that to hang onto. I also know my old victim self would be laying blame on everybody else and thinking I was some helpless hapless waif who was being bulldozed by the selfish noogies around me, but I know this isn't true. Yeah, I'm ground zero for all the crap right now- everyone seems to want a piece of me. Phone solicitors. Lawyers. Contractors. Counselors. Doctors and insurers who can't seem to settle anything between themselves and want answers from me that I just don't have. The kid. The husband. The ex. Even the damn dog is trailing around after me being all meechy and wanting me to make the strangers stop touching the house. But they have their reasons for looking to me to make it all better and really only the ex and the doctor/insurance people need to put on their big boy panties and figure it out themselves. Everyone else has legit cause to be all up in my face and wanting me to make a decision, fix it, whatever.

Stupid as it sounds a big part of my stress is this stupid hair. I HATE the color. The pic looks pretty great but...hello? Former model here, it was my job look great in front of a camera. In real life this dopey hair looks fake. It looks like the wigs the local Hassidic women wear. It's nerdy and ageing and just plain old unflattering. I have, however, purchased a box of color remover and will be applying it to my noggin tomorrow. So. Problem #1 almost solved. (Btw, my eyes are green. Why they look blue in pics is unknown.)

The kid? The kid is finding having the traces put on him and being broken to work just as upsetting and anger-making as any animal that's had an easy life of it since ever and is now horrified to be expected to pull its weight. He's going to be 15 in a couple months and it is NOT outrageous that he do such arduous things as clean up that cesspool he calls his bedroom and to learn how to operate the lawn mower. Is he doing it fast and well enough to keep Mick the Exacting One off his back? Nope. Hence the moaning and sulking and the weepy entreaties to me for help. Wolf finds little succor or sympathy here. For one thing the kid does need some discipline. Learning to do some basic chores won't kill him. For another I'm having my own trials with my whack-a-doodle neat freak perfectionist husband and don't have much energy left beyond what the two of them suck off me in the usual run of things as I go about fulfilling my designated role as Official Monkey In the Middle. I'm already the DMZ, the buffer, the weary diplomat run ragged between two impossibly opposite and obstinate countries and cannot do more to keep the peace than I have been all along.

Mick? Mick is as ever my biggest support and biggest pain in my ass. Not mutually exclusive, I assure you. The driving force behind all the positive changes and accomplishments around here is the very same energy pounding me into the ground right now. Mick on a roll to get stuff done is awesome and terrifying. The word 'juggernaut' comes to mind. I know he can't help himself, really. In some ways I feel sorry for him, such a trapped rat in his frantic need for order and perfection. It's pitiful. In other ways I want to bust open his thick Irish skull with my cast-iron frying pan. If putting him in a coma will buy me a quiet morning then I consider that a fair deal.

Please understand I know this is just a weird coming together of too many things at once.

That the next ex/child support/house mess court date is nigh and the ex is his usual passive-aggressive shithead self and being up my ass about the ONE issue I have some small part in and he's blithely ignoring the 99.99% that rests on his shoulders alone.

That the stipend from my trust came in and with it I bought the soffits and new stoop and thus am on the hook for money and signing off on the work. Did that with my own little hatchet and checkbook, thankyouverymuch.

That Mick's thing with painting the garage and my own sticking my nose in and making sure it's done correctly is something I volunteered for, but how was I supposed to ignore that he just wanted to slap some paint right over the filthy blistered stuff already there and hadn't a clue about how to do the job properly? I should let him waste the time, money and effort? Only to listen to the anguished ranting next spring when all the new paint bubbled and cracked and peeled right off? Nuh-uh. Not this girlie.

It's certainly not my doing that Mini-Dunk schedules its Spring Clean-Up during the post-Easter week and that this year we're taking big advantage of having tons of our awkward miscellaneous crap hauled away for free. Or that the local junk pickers keep stopping by to sift through our crap piles looking for profitable/useful crap to take for their own selves? Welcome to country living, Mr Get-Off-My-Lawn and Ms Paranoid Dog. Get over yourselves already. Strangers are going to touch our stuff. Curb shopping is a time honored tradition and participants should not be barked at by a turfy dog or my turfy husband.

That the questions and demands are coming at me fast and thick is just bad timing. Add that to the usual feeling of being encroached upon and crowded when the guys are here for longer than a weekend, plus bad hair, and the ex, and the work crews, and the contractor's minion waltzing into my office and catching me in my nightie at lunchtime, and that the goddamn phones (cell and landline both) never stop ringing, and two different appointments with Wolf's support team getting last minute schedule changes and me having to hustle and go unprepared and badly dressed, plus my car going in for simple oil change and inspection and ending up staying over the weekend and into Tuesday while the rear brakes were replaced again, and that the 'Hunger Games' movie totally sucked, and once the stress ratcheted up my night world has gone scary and sucky and I haven't had a decent night's sleep since, shoot, I can't remember when, and having Mick's parents here for Easter dinner and being with them is just awful these days, and all the rest of the 'fun' outlined, yeah.

Let us not forget that Mick's cancer removal surgery is this Monday.

Your pal the Sage is not a happy camper at the mo'. Not anyone's fault. Not anything permanent. Nothing to be done but put my pointy little head down and keep bulling my way through as I have been for the last week or so. I'm remembering to be thankful there's money enough for most of it. That even with his panties in an enormous bunch my husband adores me and only wants to do good. That my kid will survive his indoctrination into the real world of work and WILL pull up his lousy English grade. The ex can and will go away eventually and the courts and law are on my side about this. The dog might have a nervous breakdown but she was damaged before we got her and her life is usually pretty serene most of the time. The house is now water-tight and tidier than it's been in many years. Bad hair can be fixed and if nothing else will grow out eventually. My new computer tower and I have mostly come to terms and I even successfully downloaded the Sims 3 and two expansion packs. Netflix has 'Quincy M.E.' and boy, is THAT a walk down memory lane! And the 21st will come in its own time and almost every single one of the problems and glitches and pains in my poor weary butt will be over by then.

Slightly shrieky, weepy, and frazzled, but doing okay, ~LA the Impossibly Busy

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