Today the stress bomb hit. When this happens my heart rate gallops along at an uncomfortable speed until I can talk myself down. Writing helps.
Some of the contributors have been discussed previously, so I will not wax on about them.
- No water on the Island.
- Smelly water on the Island.
- A misbehaving washing machine and a, very likely, dying shut-off valve for the damn-near new washer, on the Island.
- ALL (lots, and lots, and lots, and some more!) the communication it took to line up, hunt down, and talk through the bits and pieces of the above from afar.
- I removed my parents 2011 records from storage the day before yesterday, sorting them into: recycle, burn/shred, or keep for accounting forensics (yes, I am a nerd). I thought this was going to be a Woo-Hoo moment!! Half a file drawer freed up! Not so much. I was left feeling sad and thinking about what all the paper represented… My dad’s illness mostly.
- Today I learned friends, who I haven’t seen in a year-plus, have Covid. They are vaccinated. They are also musicians and have started playing out in the community again. A musician myself, there is NO WAY I would play in public. While they feel like crap, they’re going to be OK. It just devastates me to know they are ill.
- I stopped in to see Jane today. It was a good visit. She’s mellowed a lot. I am no longer afraid to see her alone. It’s not like I worried that she would lash out at me, but that the PTSD I acquired along that way while caring for my mom, definitely, and unfairly, shifted to Jane. No, it doesn’t make sense. But it is what it is, and I’m getting over it. Jane had some beautiful smiles today, and I learned something about her that I never knew!
- My DH’s aunt is very concerned about her sister. My MIL is still having phone foibles. Aunt Sue sent us email telling us exactly what was or wasn’t happening last night with her sister’s phones. I was pretty damn proud of myself for Not correcting Aunt Sue’s understanding of what cell phones do, or don’t do, during different states of stasis. Not my job. I appreciate that she is concerned and lives a continent away, however, these notes essentially are her handing her stress and anxiety to our inboxes. I have enough of my own, thank you. I need to let my DH read these emails first. 😏
- My MIL is very interested in an independent living community near her home. My DH received their pricing structure today. My HUGE fear is that my MIL, who’s idea this is, is going to back right out. Depending on the residency agreement one chooses, the community (entrance) fee for a two bedroom apartment ranges from $250K to $790K. Then there’s the monthly, $3000-$3200. My mom’s community fee for assisted living was less than $20K. Again, not my responsibility, and having walked this path, I can’t not participate. Supporting my DH goes without saying. And in the same moment that I say that, my MIL will resist anything I have to add to the conversation.
- I finally pressed the (garage) fridge full of apples. One does not think of apple pressing as an incredibly physical activity. Let me correct your thinking… I am sore in weird places, like across my upper back in waves, and my right bicep from running the ‘crusher.’ It’s all good, but it took me a few minutes to realize I wasn’t having psychosomatic stress symptoms…
- And to finish up the list, my appliance guy seems to have been a no-show on the Island today. I’ve texted his wife and have yet to hear back.
- Oh, and I’m fucking sick and tired of Covid.
I have zero control over most of this + I am a control freak = Stress & Anxiety.