First things first, Hey DiaryMaster, can we get some color choices up here in this joint like we had before? ou know, background color choices and font color choices. That’d be great if we could because this entire entry needs to be black with white font. 🙋
Closings: Only I would somehow find myself in the middle of closing on the sale of my first home whilst purchasing a new place of residence in another state — at the same time — on the same date — add moving and final walk thru’s to this date to make it extra fun. How the freak is this supposed to happen?! I gotta call the moving company — their name is Maine-iac Movers and the owner was pretty cool to talk too. “How is this going to happen,” is all I keep asking myself. I hope he’s truly a Maine-iac because this is surely going to be a maniac type of day.
Another freaky deaky detail is the closing date is set for April 27th now and if it were set for the 28th it would be exactly 7-years to the day when I signed the papers and took ownership of this, my first home. Another freaky deaky detail is that my wedding anniversary used to be April 26th. Loads of shit seems to happen during the month of April for me. My ingrown toenail of a younger asshole brother’s birthday is the 23rd of this month – he can kiss my ass if he gets a text from me. Man, he really sucks. Moving on.
Freaking April 27th is going to be the day from hell! 😨
Conflicted Emotions: After nearly 8-years, I think any way since I am admittedly terrible with timeframes. Let’s just go with nearly 8-years. After nearly 8-years of not hearing a word from my ex-husband I received a text message from him yesterday afternoon. I wasn’t expecting the extent of emotions that flashed over me all at the same time. Not flashed, more like splashed. He basically said he talked to his SIL whom I had spoken too and that he wanted me to know he forgives me for what I did and that he doesn’t hate me. That he was also sorry too for the things he did at the end. He seemed to be, well, more mature (finally). Then he wrote, “I have a serious live-in girlfriend and I think it’s better for everybody considered if we just keep it with just emails for now.”
Then came the tears … I don’t know why … I mean, it’s not like I expected him to be wallowing in pity thinking of me constantly. I knew that not to be the case due to my having reached out to him in the earlier years post-divorce without receiving any acknowledgement. I just expected him to remain single and remember him saying that multiple times before things went sour between us.
I was also happy for him that he had found someone new to love and to be loved by.
Yes, I was further a tiny bit jealous — I don’t know if that was/is directed towards him or her. Either way, it’s not a feeling I should be feeling.
As it turns out, it’s a good thing he wants to email because had he called me and I heard his voice, I most assuredly would have started crying and
Clutter: Lawd have mercy the shit I am finding as I pack this house up; tossing, shredding, bagging, sorting, packing. I have discovered things in boxes or with tags on them still stuffed away with things I haven’t looked at since I moved into this house. I realized, again, but with more solid knowledge that I cannot fill the holes inside of myself with material things. It just doesn’t work that way. Being older now and having to downsize and having been without work for 2+ years now? Well, I also see all the money that I have wasted over these years and OUCH! In fact, I found my very first bank statement that I opened when I closed my joint account with my ex. Seeing a five figure balance looked so damned good – seeing and not remembering me writing a check to Deputy Douche for $6100 took me aback and I am still curious why I did that and why the amount was so weird. Weird … just weird.
Speaking of Deputy Douche. While going through paperwork and sorting manuals for the new owners, I came upon all of the old cards, flower cards and love letters/notes/poems that he had ‘written’ and given to me during our tumultuous relationship. I did not cry, I did, however, totally shake my head and a wry smile emerged when I was scanning them and came upon two or three that were identical. I think seeing that and finding that and answering a question I have had: “Does he recycle these or are they heartfelt?” is answered. I haven’t thrown or shredded them – yet. A large part of me wants to deliver them to where he lives and just leave them there with a note saying something smart-assed like, “Here you go, thought you might want these. I am trying to save paper and printer ink and figured these would be best served reused again when needed.” I likely won’t though. Nah, I won’t because that would give NPD Deputy Douche a false sense that he still has a hold on me. Which, he doesn’t – I’d still take custody from him and raise his toddler son in a split second if I ever got asked though.
Cracked: All of last week I had been in serious pain with chills so bad that I was literally shaking all over with teeth chattering. The only thing that eased it at all for any length of time was pretty much boiling myself in the bathtub upwards of three times a day. Me being me just kept doing that, piling on more clothes and hiding under blankets with the pups wishing it away. Because, you know, that has obviously always worked in the past for me, right? *cough* Yeah, but that’s how I am and how I was brought up to be and a cycle I continue to try and break through. I had called my nephrologist because I was also going to the bathroom much more than I was drinking and the pain was in a strange place and inside. Not like a backache whatsoever. She wanted me to go to the ER Wednesday right away but I couldn’t because the buyer’s bank appraiser was coming by at 1:30pm. He came, he was creeeepy, totally creepy, I nicknamed him immediately “Slender Man” because he looked like a real version of Slender Man completed by his choice of talking in a weird lisper and wearing 100% black. While he was here I kind of hid out in the girl cave where I had the beasts secured. I didn’t realize until after he left that when he came into the girl cave and took pictures there is an open bin of my very large bras sitting right there in plain view.
Getting back to being cracked. I finally caved at 1am Thursday morning after another boiling session and it not doing a damned thing by then except using up my oil and hot water. I drag on the hobo home attire I wear to bed and drove my ass to the local ER. I had a couple of bags of IV fluids, a nice shot of morphine, which after the nausea wears off you’re like weeeeee I no longer care about you pain and sweet sleep I feel you coming. I had labs done and it turned out I had a kidney infection. Not so great for someone who has Stage 4 Kidney Disease. Got some antibiotics added to the IV and was discharged with some wonderful lidocaine pain patches and more damned meds to take.
Absolutely blows my mind, the stupid amount of medications I now take two times a day which are processed through the kidneys which in my case are, like, literally dying and one of the bitches is half the size it should be.