Monthly Archives: October 2011

the family that renovates together…

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As much as I bitch about this wedding, it’s actually forcing a lot things to happen. All good things.

My dad has done a LOT of work on himself and has remained sober. He’s also gotten a lot of help from my mom in regards to personal healing and self-change (she’s a licensed therapist) and they have some oddball new friendship forming. At no threat to my stepdad either, because well, he’s gotten his head out of his ass and he’s ALSO stepped up to the plate. Apparently the three of them sat down and realized that they have a daughter getting married and bringing a new family member to the table. There’s also that whole grandchild situation they’re all banking on.

So anyway, my dad is part of the picture now. A lot. He also living with the Ex-Stepmonster. Yes, that’s right. He moved out of his first wife’s house (my mom) and into his 3rd wife’s house. I don’t care how it happened, but it’s working. When I found out initially I was full of rage. A week later I decided it didn’t matter. She can handle my dad, they are making it work and being friends (which is what they ALWAYS should have been, NEVER married!) and he’s got a nice place to live. I’ve said my piece, told my dad he would never have to choose between us again, and wished him luck with repairing the damage they’d done to each other. What else can I do? I FINALLY have my dad back in my life and he’s sober. I can’t sacrifice that for a decade of bullshit with that woman. He’s made amends with me and that’s what matters. Maybe one day I can get over The Stepmonster Saga entirely, but the pain is still a little too real.

Right, so, my dad lives with his 3rd ex-wife, my stepdad is back to being the man my mom originally married, my mom is this totally gelled out earth mama now, and we’re all getting along fabulously. That brings us to the present.

We may be moving in with my parents, but we’re getting the entire basement. At first Dean and I were going to move in as is. Then my mom and I decided it should be painted. Then cleaned thoroughly. Well last month, record-breaking rain hit our area while we were on vacation and flooded the area. (The tree in the road picture? That’s the intersection by my mom’s house.) We didn’t realize (because it was mostly dried up) but the basement window had flooded and soaked the floor. Thankfully, that is the only damage to the house. The linoleum, which was mega cheap and poorly installed to begin with, was unfurling and coming up right in the middle of the floor.

Now let me paint this picture: me and my soon to be husband, my mom and stepdad, my brother, and my dad all painting the basement as one cohesive unit and laughing our asses off the entire time with football on in the background. While painting as a family (and saying that is still a surreal mindfuck in itself) we decided the linoleum had to go on the entire floor and decided on carpet tiles. It couldn’t be that hard, right?

Flash forward to this week and the floor has become the center of much aggravation. The linoleum ripped out in a swift tug and since she was on a roll, mom went ahead and ripped out the carpet in the other room with the fireplace (what will be our bedroom). Underneath the carpet? TWO layers of even uglier linoleum. For every hurdle, my mom calls my dad and he figures out the next step. Since this is all being done on our behalf, Dean and I have contributed financially. Mom and stepdad do the labor, mom calls dad for advice/estimating, Dean and I provide cash, my brother helps every where he can. It’s all working out very well, but it’s still really fucking surreal.

During all this renovating and family bonding, I’ve been busting my ass to get all of our stuff together for the move and the wedding. Knowing Dean is off his feet 100% (other than bathing briefly and using the bathroom) for a week, I have to get as much done as possible before the surgery so there are a few more things to get done just before that. And somewhere in there I have to do a final clean of the apartment and turn over my keys. Oh so much to do.

Of course I let the stress ruin me and now I’m really out of time because on top of all of this, I got majorly effing sick. About two days after my last post, I succumbed to the illness.

In all honesty, I’ve felt like shit for a month or two now (it all blends together anymore) but brushed it off. Then I started feeling a lot of pain. Cough, cold, sneezing, puking, I don’t take seriously. Pain? Pain I take seriously. So I finally go to see a doctor and surprise surprise I have another UTI. Get the meds, go home… it gets worse. WAY worse in the next few hours. More conversations with doctors and the end result is a kidney infection. A kidney infection due to having an untreated UTI for so long. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a kidney infection but it can be summed in one word: Agony.

I don’t even remember some of it, but I’ve been informed there was a lot of crying and a lot of sitting on the toilet which made me cry some more because it hurt too much to bend over at all to wipe. There were scary fever moments and questioning a trip to the ER, but in the end I managed to break the fever. Just in time to get strep throat! By Saturday morning I wasn’t any better (other than the pain subsiding) so they take one look at me, do a few cultures, and HUZZAH! You’ve got strep, bitch!

Two antibiotics and several days of forced rest later, I’m finally better. And now I’m down to 13 days till moving day and 17 days till wedding day. We’ve got about 30% of the apartment packed and into storage.

I’m never gonna make it.

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anxiety ridden nightmare

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I am falling the fuck apart. Again. I cannot fucking handle this shit. Fuck the dress, fuck the gazebo, fuck the family seeing it all, and fuck this fucking wedding! The problem is, no one has a clue how I feel. Okay well maybe Dean has a tiny bit of a clue and my mom has a big clue, but no one knows how much I’m dreading this. I’m sure it’s my own fault for grinning and bearing it and trying to keep up a strong appearance.

I thought if I made this wedding everything I could possibly want and putting my foot down about everything that I would start to enjoy this. I did, briefly. I definitely go back and forth about it all. One day I’m fine, the next day my chest is so tight from panic that I can’t breathe, let alone function as an adult, without a steady stream of xanax. I never wanted a wedding. I still don’t. I’m giving in to everything he wants because he wants a wedding and so does my family. Everyone is excited about this but me. I’m giving in to everyone but myself.

Then I went and added moving on top of it and I HAD to up that timeline because of impending foot surgery for my darling fiance. Then my darling husband-to-be completely lost his senses and decided to start booking us for all sorts of things. Never mind the fact that we have a calendar showing us previously engaged in other things. Never mind the fact that we have a wedding in 24 days. Never mind the fact that we’re moving in 20 days and have to pack this apartment up and have about 10% done. Never mind the fact that in order to move we have to do renovations on the basement we’re moving into. Painting, patching, ripping out carpet, rippling out linoleum, installing new flooring, cleaning everything, etc. Never mind the fact that I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING!

So I have to be the bad guy and say no and be the bitch. I have to look like I’m controlling everything because he needs the excuse to get out of shit. Whatever.

And the thing no one tells you until AFTER it happens is the fact that you will argue more when you’re engaged than you do any other time of your life. It’s not even over the planning most of the time, it’s about all our bullshit. I finally put my foot down and threatened to call off the wedding entirely until that man got some fucking therapy. Too many issues from childhood brewing to deal with and I get to the be the verbal punching bag. Well fuck that. Therapy is now in progress and the wedding is still on, but there are still issues. I’m willing to help him get through them, but we still fight. A lot. And our sex life? HAHAHAHAHA! Obliterated. I told him I was done with sex and babymaking until we got through this nightmare.

Everyone tells you to just relax and take a breath. Well fuck you too! This is not easy, this is a LIFELONG committment, and I’m stressed out! I have anxiety problems. You think this shit makes that anxiety easy to deal with? NOPE! Amplifies it tenfold! Unless you’re helping me in some way (phone calls to let me vent, distracting me with your own life, or helping me pack) then fuck off for the next 4 weeks.

Except I can’t say any of this to anyone but my mom. Even she is getting under my skin because I have to make all the decisions for her to help me. But at least she’s helping. At least she’s letting me vent and cry and get it out of my system. And she’s letting me move in with her and save hundreds of dollars a month so we can pay for fertility treatments or buy a house or whatever. So I have my mom. And my blog. And my xanax. I can survive this, right?

I’m all wound up and tight chested after writing all this. Gee, no connection there.

Fuck. I have to go back to work. More xanax methinks.