This has been a trying week.
Nothing overtly terrible happened except that my memory was absolute garbage up until Thursday. Except, you see, whenever I feel like I can’t trust my mind to remember things it normally does with ease my anxiety levels go up. When my anxiety levels go up it makes it harder to remember everything. Then I get more frustrated and more anxious. Vicious cycle.
Couldn’t tell if the memory lapses (multiple times I forgot my phone at home when leaving for work, forgot to pay a bill I hadn’t failed to pay in over 12 years, numerous random little things like forgetting to grab my work badge as I left the car so I had to walk back, etc) were from stress or possibly from the brief exposure to black/pink mold last week. Either way I didn’t feel like myself and that always makes me cranky.
I started thinking how different my life is now compared to 3 months ago. How different it is from 6 months ago. The one year anniversary of the end of my marriage (not officially but basically the day I knew I couldn’t stay married to him) was yesterday. I wonder what things will look like in 3 months from now, or 6 months…a year. I’m hoping that I won’t still be in my house at least. That place is killing me. Seriously.
Speaking of that damn house, progress is being made. I have a contractor working on it as I type. Hoping most of the windows will be finished being trimmed when I get home today. The plan is to do some work on it myself (with the help of a friend) this weekend but sometimes life has other ideas. If we don’t get to it I will just have to pay a little more and have the contractor finish it up. I like to think I can handle anything but that house is overwhelming. Even thinking about packing everything up to move almost shuts my brain down. I have sooooooooooooooooooooooooo much stuff. Not quite hoarder level but way too much considering I lost almost everything to the fire in 2011.
I did realize why the idea of moving and downsizing made me want to cry the other day though. A large part of me saw it as taking a step backwards. You live with your parents, then you move out and usually end up living with roommates, then by yourself, and the end goal is to get a house you can turn into a home and live in with people you love and build a collection of all the things you ever wanted. Now I am going to throw out or give away/sell so many things I worked hard to accumulate, including a house I literally helped build with my own hands. All this to move to a small, over-priced apartment by myself. If I was older maybe this wouldn’t be so hard, but I’m still pretty young and it’s been a hard sell trying to convince myself that this is a move in the right direction. That fucking house…perhaps I have a similar relationship with it as I did with former husband. I really need to be done with detrimental relationships.
Hopefully next week will be much nicer.