The stupid things

It’s the stupid things that make me cry.
This morning I woke up continuing the inflamed conversation in my head about responding to our last Landlord’s letter about the damages we (read: our cat Tesla) supposedly caused.
I had to jump out of bed to avoid thinking of my mum, of how she could clearly never stand me, of how hateful she was with me..
Then I texted our new landlady requesting that famous appointment with the guy who needs to come and see some serious problems in the house. She says she will send one today. I thought about how I was getting a little hyped up but I though no no, it’s ok, I’ll get my husband to read any letters before I send them, it’ll be fine. Let my flaming sword of justice come out and he will help me ensure it doesn’t stab too deep.

Then I made coffee, watered the plants, thought about maybe I should write to my sister, and tell her about my mum. Tell her my problems go well beyond what she knows about. I also turned on the computer to work (that was 1.5 hours ago).
I allowed the little nemesis into the house, on useless conditions I know they won’t respect. Whatever. I thought, I am ok, I am zen.

I went online to check our bank account to see if I could at least afford a tenner to send to my son, who is off at Uni and out of money. Long long discussions last night with my husband. The realisation yesterday, while I filled in the form for my other son’s Student Loan, that actually, they DON’T live with both parents: they live with just me, their biological father is thankfully far and unavailable. As touching as it is that my first born considers my husband, his step-dad, his only father, by law he is not, and therefore, that might (MIGHT) mean he gets more money (the household income is the same, I guess. We’ll see.). My daughter is desperately waiting to go to the swimming pool, which we couldn’t afford… and now she has to wait for my period to pass. My son only has one pair of shoes, needs another. But everything waits, everything is worth it, because our Rhino Hall (our house, it will be called that in my heart despite my family men’s disapproval) is beautiful and was worth every penny. Basically, it’s been a trying few hours, mostly the effort of keeping thoughts of pain from hijacking me. I log into our bank account, and I see 90 blooming pounds to pay for electric cigarette liquid. THAT’S when I start crying. Little girls in the house, I have to contain myself, but seriously think about going away to cry in the bathroom upstairs. A flood of thoughts start rushing through my head, I see my husband has replied to the message where I said “WTF!!!” but I don’t want to read it, I see the scenery being prepared for the drama that will destroy me: well who am I to judge, he is the one that works, it’s only fair, and blah and blah and blah and think back to my wedding, all that money my dad spent for my wedding, and think of all the wonderful things I could have done if he’d given me that money when I needed it, I would still have my baby, I could have left P. and moved to New Zealand… All the tsunami of drama thoughts was building up in my head and was about to flood me, and floor me. Then I saw a message from the landlady: she apologises profusely but the builder can only come on Friday. “Oh”, I think, suddenly calm, “that’s fine, I can wait”. Then I look at my husband’s text: he’s sent more money than I’d asked to my son, and those 90 pounds were to buy something for one of the friends who’ve lent us loads of money to secure this house, and they will be discounted from our loan.

The tsunami vanishes, and it’s all calm seas again, and me feeling stupid.

If I think back to all the things I’ve done on that tsunami waves. But now that I know a bit more about stuff, I choose not to. I just reply to my husband “thank you honey” and I am normal again. Feeling stupid, but calm. I stop any further thoughts.

Then I see a message from my dearest of dears, one of my oldest friends, on this blog, and the tears well up again.

What a drag it is to be this. But the worst is over. Now I know and I wish I’d known earlier. Now I have a lot of answers I didn’t have before, and soon, I will have more.

And, sure as honey, here comes my beloved Eddie, randomly coming up on my playlist with one of my favourite Pearl Jam songs of all:

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4 thoughts on “The stupid things

    1. Yeah Eddie’s awesome :). Are there drugs to make your brain stop working, thoughts from coming? Those are the ones I want πŸ™‚ A nice, pleasant, constant, non-interactive buzzzzzzzzzzzz. White noise. Do they make drugs for white noise? πŸ™‚

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