It’s been another wack ass week for me.
I’ve been having anxiety attacks from hell. The worst was on Tuesday, when my sewer line was backing up, causing flooding in my laundry room and kitchen. My husband had to keep shop vacuuming up the funky water. It thankfully ended up being all four units of my condo, so the association had to pay to fix it. It’s fine now, but I am still embarrassed and ashamed that I tweaked out.
I kept picturing my kitchen tiles busting open, and caskets filled with long dead skeletons popping up, ala Poltergeist.
It’s always the worst case scenario in my mind, and I feel like a teenager again. I thought I had that shit on lockdown. I am totally out of control when something bad happens. PTSD is a bitch, what with all of these triggers lurking in the shadows waiting to devour my sanity.
We had men from the water company and the plumbers knocking on our doors all evening long. Put the dogs outside, let them back in. I ended up hurting the entire left side of my body, back and torso. So, I have been resting and trying not to move all that much. I am yet again naturally assuming that it’s the fibro wreaking havoc on my hot bod.
No, not that kind of hot bod. It’s been close to 90 the last few days.
My daughter pissed me off. I texted her yesterday morning to let her know that I wasn’t going to be able to pick her up from school. I don’t like to drive while under the influence of narcotics. A legit, responsible excuse.
She called me.
“Where are you?”
“I’m home. I’m in a lot of pain and had to take a Vicodin.” ( I also smoked some ganja.)
“I am not waiting for the bus! Why didn’t you tell me last night or this morning?”
“It would have been nice to know earlier!! I am walking home!!”
Let me pause this for a second. The road home is 4 miles without sidewalks.
“Listen here little girl, you will sit and wait for the bus. If you walk home…”
“You’ll what? I can’t believe this!!!”
Yeah, she actually called to tell me off. How dare I make her wait 45 minutes for the bus home? Instead of saying, “Gee mom, I am sorry you are in so much pain. I’ll deal with it, don’t worry.”
Then we hugged and baked cookies.
Right now, I don’t really want to look at her. She’s been acting like a spoiled princess lately. They tell me it’s the age, but this kid has her own gravitational pull in her own orbit. I’m an unwelcome planet.
Getting her to help out around here is like pulling teeth with a pair of rusty tweezers.
She’s been dealing with her own demon, namely her father. She wants to invite him to her graduation next June. I realize that she needs to do this. I have given my permission, with the stipulation that he stays on his side of the auditorium.
I might end up making eye contact and flipping him the bird.
I told my mom about my decision, and she wholeheartedly agreed. He won’t be invited to the graduation party.
No cake for you, fucker.
Let the healing begin.