winds of change (and rage)

With all the uncertainty swirling around in my life, I started getting anxious about my mountain place. You see, the mountain house served as a dumping ground for my grandmother's house contents. My mother was unable to make decisions (remember my mother is the same woman who shopped for a couch for THREE years; clearly decision making is not her forte) and get rid of my grandmother's things so to save my poor father's sanity, my house became the mega storage unit. 


The storage unit conversion occurred about three years ago. Hence, my panic set in knowing my stuff will be returning and there is already too much of other people's stuff in my casa. I was a girl on a mission so I booked a ticket to officially commence Operation Get The House Sorted. 


I arrived home to hurricane force winds but my trusty little Nissan Versa rental somehow made it through. I surveyed the damage and hoped my mother would be able to part with these things now. As "acting" chief foreman, my mother has been hell bent on having a garage sale to unload the discards. I hail from a different mindset and firmly believe in donating the items to a women's charity, the local Lupus charity is my favorite. Why waste all the time haggling over a quarter, losing a whole day sitting in the driveway, and then listen to my mother complain incessantly that "people want chicken for 50 cents". I'd much rather give because I am lucky to have so much (and take the tax receipt). Clearly in the end, I am the one who comes out ahead on several levels (karma, baby!). 


Five days home and I finally broke my mother down. She saw the light and agreed to donate rather than go through the garage sale charade. While I was happy, I know my poor father was ecstatic because he doesn't have to suffer through another one of her pointless follies. 


I also went through almost every inch of my house to retire items that no longer turned me on. But during this whole-house sorting extravaganza, I found myself getting very agitated and angry. The cause? Seeing all the items my ex-husband, The Leech left behind. I was mortified by how much anger surfaced. After all, it is 7 years since he moved out and I moved on. But, I was livid as I went through his junk and deposited it in the garbage as most of it was literally junk. I was not expecting any anger after all this time but there I was at times shaking with rage as I dealt with his junk. I am hoping the Great Leech Clean-out of 2012 was just as good for removing my lurking anger as it was for clearing the house of the last vestiges. 


My panicked trip was good. The house is several steps closer to being ready for dwelling again and hopefully I am a few steps closer to wholeness too. 

Holiday, Smoliday

Whew! Last week. What a whirl wind. I took some holiday time, even though I did not go to any exotic locale. Since it was holiday time, I banished myself from the computer, so as to not be tempted in any, shape, or form to engage in work related activities. This past four days was all about complete and total disconnect from all things work. I was successful at that.

Of course, the main object of focus was to finish the bathroom. By finish, I mean specifically tile. Tile the shower and tile the floor. And over my mini-break, guess how much got accomplished? 33%. Yes, that does not read 100%. Because. You. See. I. Am. Missing. Three. Yes. Three. Boxes. Of. TILE!

I never under buy. Never. Especially if something is on clearance. Never. I measure and do my calculations several times. I distinctly remember having a loaded cart of tile at Home Depot many years ago. But yet, I am missing 88 tiles. How could so many tiles magically disappear? I have pondered that only coming to one clear conclusion. The Leech. As vindictive as he was moving out, the Leech took the tile. I know it. Now to pray the tile men find the identical tile that they were so sure of. My anger has ceased substantially since Friday. Damn you, Leech!

To top off the grand tiling adventure, my parents’ bionic pup on death’s door became seriously ill. Read: the poor dog was dying. He was 122 in dog years. Poor guy, it was time for him to go. Finally, my mother realized it was time for him to go too. So near the end of the business day, the three of us piled in the car with poor poochie and headed to the animal hospital. Dad and I went back with poochie. It was sad because we’d had him for so long. I clearly remember the day we got him. We got him primarily due to me, followed closely by my father. It was sad but yet relieving because as far as I was concerned poor thing suffered much longer than he needed to but my mom would not let him go. I was surprised by how my stoic father lost it once we were behind the closed doors – just me, him, and the pooch. He was a good little poochie who loved us dearly as we did him.

Revenge of the Wallpaper

Today's mini-project - remove the wallpaper border in the kitchen.

Armed with my mixture of water and fabric softener, I thought it would be a slam dunk. Easier than the easy removal of the family room. So much for those thoughts. It has been an absolute bitch getting it off. I have given up for the evening and so far the wallpaper is winning - damn!

Tomorrow the wallpaper border will be but a memory. I will defeat it. It will be a sneak attack after the gym!

Oh yeah - I was at the gym by 9 am this morning. Why? Because I slept excellently again last night; waking at 6:50 AM bright eyed and bushy tailed. Thank you very much acupuncture!

Another day of no tears. A few times I felt sad but no tears came flowing out of my ocular region. It is such a different state of being and I am liking it.

I am heading to trivia tonight with some friends as part of my birthday celebration. Not quite my idea of birthday fun but it will still be fun. Hopefully I will have a few tales to tell in the morning.