Day 3 in the dish. Started out lethargic but determined because yesterday my anxiety was so bad, I couldn’t even manage a trip to the grocery store. To punish myself, er, push my limits, I did let my kid have company when I got home yesterday. 4 kids, playing inside. Nerve racking, annoying, loud, icky…But since I let myself delay the shopping trip cos I was so rattled, I figured I could atone for the guilt of feeling weak by allowing my inner sanctum to be invaded. By six thirty when the church bus came, I was ready to do a fucking mamba. 7 kids playing in my yard, all of them bickering or crying, sooo much drama…When I punish myself, I do it well.
Today has me in confrontation anxiety. R has a customer who’s been waiting for 5 weeks for a repair, they’ve sent one wrong part, one never got sent at all even though ebay said it did, and the current one was supposed to have arrived today at the latest…but it’s not here. And the customer wants to take the TV back, he is mega irritated and pissed and I don’t blame him. I hope I can hold him off til tomorrow at least. This confrontation thing is a huge anxiety trigger for me and it’s not even really my damned drama. The worse part is, R is out of state the next 4 days for his youngest daughter’s wedding which means even if the customer agrees to wait til tomorrow and the board comes…Who’s gonna install it? Oh, right, ME. I’ve never done that before. I tear them down. I don’t put them together. I’m a bull in a china shop, ffs. But hey, I’ll give it a whirl and do my best. Though I’m not sure the customer will wait even 24 more hours. This is the sort of stuff that gives me pretzel gut and digestive issues, it’s so stressful. I don’t do confrontation.
What I do, however, do, is improvise when possible. R has been on me for over a week about moving a big 65 inch TV to the back, get Kenny or someone to help me…I got sick of waiting for help to be available so I dragged the fucker back by myself this morning. My sister offered to come help, but honestly…asking for help is just so not me. If I can possibly do it myself, I will. And I did, even if it wasn’t exactly ‘gentle’. Screen is still in tact. One plus of being raised by a redneck who wanted boys instead of girls…my sis and I are more hardcore than a large percentage of men. We have the truck driver/sailor on shore leave swearing to prove it, fuck yeah! Which is one more thing about my idget father that cracks me up. He swears all the time, one of the first words I remember him saying when I was a kid was “motherfucker!” when the car wouldn’t start…and it’s okay for him but my sis and I swear and he says we’d make sailors run back to the ship in horror. WTF kind of male bullshit is that? He taught us most of the words, anyway. I guess me and sis really suck at the being girly thing, wonder why…
Am I awful hoping the disgruntled guy doesn’t call? Earlier I was feeling more level ut a couple hours of noise and another ‘not fixed right’ return…My nerves are starting to fray. I had an idea that might have worked but of course, R missed a couple of repairs so I can’t even do a substitute with an abandoned set. Frustration also feeds anxiety.
That’s all my blog has come to, isn’t it? Nervous, nervous, anxiety, anxiety. I don’t like it, either, but I write it because out there might be someone struggling through it, perhaps even undiagnosed, and if they read that someone else knows what it’s like…it can be of some small comfort. It’s so easy to feel all alone with mental stuff. Kind of like having invisible leprosy and being shunted to your own island. Sucks.
Now…something cute I can’t resist posting. My kid got this ‘finger’ drumset at a yard sale then parked Mr. Brownstone at it. (Yeah, the cat is named after the G’N’R song, sue me.)
(Yes, the carpet is gross but that’s the doorway where a dozen kids stampede daily, I quit fighting it. Look at the cute kitty, damn it!)