DONE
Just when I thought everything was going smooth the universe made the executive decision to throw a wrench into my peace. Does everyone agree that Lisa appears to be content? Good, bring in the wrench, please. On second thought, make it a double.
It’s been 6 months since I was blindsided, and the universe has been somewhat kind, but recently it has decided to shake things up a bit. As if watching the News wasn’t enough.
My son decided to move out of his apartment and back HOME. The problem with this big fat wrench is he didn’t come alone. He brought his endless appetite, wash, sneakers the size of Pennsylvania and a school project that entails constructing something that has now taken over my entire house. Remember the movie The Blob? It’s like that over here.
My nature is very easy peasy. Little things like gigantic sneakers and piles of wash have never bothered me before, well, maybe not never. But, certainly not at the level of wanting to set the house on fire to make them go away. This is the result of holding in an emotional fart.
Clearly, there are some underlining things going on with me to stir up this level of emotion, and now you lucky readers who were drawn in my clever title get to read about it. Sorry, not sorry.
Although my life keeps moving forward one snail slide at a time, and the memories start to fade, they don’t leave, they linger. Like the crowd you see at Starbucks sucking up the free wi-fi ALL DAY.
The problems I’m facing now are the reminders. Not the “don’t forget we need milk” kind, the “my therapist would like you to come in next week” kind. It is the equivalent of being shot out of a cannon right back to October 12th. Why can’t I take a cannonball ride back to 1974 when I was free of concerns, other than the daunting decision to ride my bike or play jump rope?
In some ways, it’s good to go so I can get a feel as to what’s going on inside my man’s head. In other ways, it drains me for days. Literally paralyzing me from doing what I enjoy. I don’t read, write or go to the gym. I find myself stuck in a cloud of never ending thoughts. In my head, it’s like trying to figure out a math equation that has multiple answers. I HATE MATH!
Of course, I know it’s all part of the process, and that the process is the best thing for everyone and that it’s working, but for god sakes, it’s a lot to deal with when you’re just trying to deal period. Hence the thought that FIRE would be the way to go with ridding my house of clutter.
At this point in my life, I think it’s safe to say that the universe shops at Sears and there is just an obvious endless sale on Craftsman wrench sets, so I need to take responsibility, tighten my helmet, fasten my seatbelt and just … Enjoy the Ride! One long speed bump at a time.
Life With The Top Down 
Maybe you could move into his apartment. I feel for you. When our son moved home after college, we said we need to work toward you moving into your own place at some point. We did the same with my sister when she needed us. We helped her move into her own place as the crisis diminished. We help her, but said clearly it is not fair to you or us for you to stay here long term.
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I would love to move into his place, unfortunately there are 2 spoiled roommates there that would increase my chances of facing a prison term.
He has 2 semesters left of school, but due to the lesson he learned about roommates, he’ll be commuting. Meanwhile I’m over here teaching Laundry 101 and tripping over sneakers.
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Laundry 101 is a very important course. Best wishes, Professor.
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It really is unpleasant to hold a fart for any length of time. You should consider this space your “fart all you want zone” and use it to get as much out of your system as possible. That’s what we’re here for. That, and to read your always welcome pieces even if we need a gas mask.
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Hahaha! Thank you! I think you’re right.
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After the fart presumably you felt better? No?
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Yes, as a matter of fact I do.
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Somehow I empathize even though our son never moved back home. Go figure.
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Can’t imagine the son moving back (I don’t have children and there’s no way my stepkids are moving here!) but my ex had “issues.” I get the therapy thing. The meetings and sense of helplessness I would get. It would suck the energy out of me. At the end of it all, he decided that I was the cause of all his angst. That was 25 years ago. Looking back, he really freed me. I hope your ending is better. I’ll get a gas mask and you can fart all you want.
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There should be a rule that if you can’t fit in your crib you’re not allowed back. Thank goodness he make me laugh, it’s his saving grace.
I’m glad to hear that you felt drained, just so I know I’m not crazy. Some times I feel like I ran a marathon. It’s getting better, but whew …
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You’ve got the top down, Lisa, so fart away! 😉 xoxoM
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Hahaha! That’s so true…lol
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My husband reckons I have two types of emotional farts, the loud one and the silent killer. He prefers I do the loud one so he’s prepared and can deal with it, whereas the silent killer tend to erode into the marriage…. So let it out loud and clear 🙂 I hope you feel the relief!
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Hahahaha! I can’t say I blame him those silent ones can be killers.
Laughing at farts always make me feel better. (No, I’m not a 12 year old boy)
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Just think, it could be worse! Yes, it actually could!
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Yes, it could be, but for now it’s my worst and I have to figure out how to stop mending everyone else and start to mend myself.
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What’s that smell??
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Hahaha!
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The title was worth the price of admission alone but the rest of the post definitely paid off.
Well done.
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