Emotional Fart
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.
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List? There’s a LIST?
Oh…yes…it…is!
I’m seeking some assistance from my brilliant readers. You are all so wise that I’m confident one, if not more, hold the answer to my inquiry.
Is there a time limit, expiration date, deadline or cutoff for receiving calls from your ex-husband’s debt collectors? Seriously!
Last evening I was sitting all comfy cozy reading some of your inspiring literature, when I was interrupted by a phone call that took me completely by surprise. I’m not a fan of surprises.
This is what went down:
Me: Hello?
DC a/k/a Debt Collector: Can I speak with Mr. Dumb Ass? This is so much more appropriate that the real identity of the ex and frankly it’s MUCH nicer than what I really want to say.
Me: Um, there is no one here by that name. Stunned!
DC: *Insert really nasty tone* Well, do you know where I can find him? Oh, no you didn’t!
Me: Well, as far as I know he is living in his mommy & daddy’s basement with his third victim wife and one of his spawned seeds. This is a true fact.
DC: Oh, um well you are on THE LIST of contacts so, um eh that’s why I’m calling. List?
Me: *Insert complete freaking crazy* List? There is a list? Guess what mister … there needs to be a LIST of people to contact before you start handing out money to Mr. Dumb Ass. Put me on the top of THAT freaking list! Look, I’ve been divorced from Mr. Dumb Ass for 25 …Y E A R S and all I can tell you is some things never change! Snap!
DC: *Insert a bunch of stuttering nonsense* I’ll take you off the list.
Me: *Insert ALL of the pent-up emotions I have been dealing with this month* Yes, yes you will be taking me of that list because I should have been taken OFF that LIST once the divorce was final TWENTY-FIVE freaking years ago! Who do you think you are calling MY house with a tone as if I’m in control of this Dumb Ass? You really have a nerve calling anyone with a tone sir…you need to save that tone for the stupid people who gave another stupid person any form of credit. Oh, and just so you know, I can guarantee you that Mr. Dumb Ass most likely owes everyone on your precious LIST money as well, so tell your company to get in FREAKING LINE! Hello?
DC: Silence……ok, have a good evening…click.
Hey, what up March?
I was so out of control, but I’m not surprised after being on a roller coaster ride of emotions this month. It was just a matter of time before someone reaped the unfortunate benefits. The 28 days of February have been chock-full of ups & downs, so I would say this was certainly an appropriate farewell. Tootles February … it’s been real.
Once the dust settled I heard a faint, somewhat frightened voice coming from down stairs asking “Are you alright?” At this point there was nothing left to do but laugh so hard I couldn’t even answer. This was no doubt the remainder of emotions detoxing from my body. There is no better feeling than releasing emotional toxins from your body!
I am officially entering March like a Lamb. Now, that’s all I need is a foot massage, four donuts and an orgasm (not necessarily in that order) to really…Enjoy the Ride!
Life With The Top Down 
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