Life During Wartime

Once again, your comments brought me to effing TEARS (and my mom, too, pretty much), and I’m working my way through my email, which is usually not an issue, except that HOO BOY I am TERRIBLE with email and wait, where was I?

Oh, right. So this last week, just to be clear, I wasn’t holed up in some corner, weeping my life away (although I have moments of being pretty bummed out), but I had a deadline and now THAT is done, I feel like … well, a new woman, in a weird way, only because I suddenly have all of this free time. Which: HA! I never had that much to BEGIN with, but when you’re me and you basically get your whole job done in your free time, well, when it returns after a deadline, suddenly life seems RIFE WITH POSSIBILITIES and maybe things like crafting and knitting! SCRAPBOOKING! I SHALL MAKE ALL OF OUR CLOTHES FROM SCRATCH AND START A CAKE BUSINESS!

Except, well, no, the only thing I am remotely decent at is what I do for a living, so I am not on my way to being on Top Chef: Just Desserts OR Project Runway, but am doomed to be a writer and communications professional-type person, and sadly, that is not at all glamorous or exciting and worse, there is no fondant or buttercream or even pretty scraps of paper. What a pile of shit.

So we really are doing okay, with the exception of the occasional disproportionate reaction to something relatively minor. See: our trash. Since the snow has been piling up, we CANNOT get the damn bags to the front of the house without dragging them through four feet of snow, and I know! I know I am prone to hyperbole, but when I say four feet of snow, I REALLY MEAN IT. Our entire yard is covered in four feet of snow, and that’s not even the drifts or the piles where the plow pushed it all, and it’s just getting CRAZY up in here, and there was a time when our driveway could hold five or six cars, and now, so help me, we are running out of room for TWO.

Anyway, so it takes us at least an hour to take out the trash, no kidding, and so Thursday, Adam dragged eleven bags out there, and then, oh my God, on Friday, THE GARBAGE MEN DID NOT TAKE THEM. Which, fine; the bags were white, but IT IS NOT MY FAULT WE USE HEFTY KITCHEN BAGS. BESIDES, THERE WAS ONE BLACK ONE.

And this kind of, um, sent me over the edge, most likely because my neighbor CALLED ME to tell me this happened, and it just felt so MEDDLING and before I knew it, I was calling Adam in near hysterics, because WE WERE GOING TO BE BURIED BY SNOW AND TRASH, SOMEONE SAVE US. And he was literally consoling me about it, because, apparently, trash gets me SUPER UPSET.

Anticlimactic resolution: the trash men came back Saturday morning after I called public works. Oh.

There was also the evening I thought Adam’s (ancient, strangely beloved) Honda was leaking fuel and I worked myself into a tearful lather all, “I SMELL GAS!” and made AAA tow it, but as it turns out, they would NOT tow it unless the fire department came to make sure it was safe to do so, which they did. Unfortunately, they also did it at 9 p.m. while driving a GIANT FIRE TRUCK with LIGHTS and FIREMEN IN UNIFORM AND HELMETS who were all, um, why are we here? To which Adam helpfully shrugged his shoulders and sighed, “My wife smelled fuel. I don’t smell it. Do you?”

Well, no, they didn’t, but it turns out the car DID have an exhaust leak discovered by the repair people and WHAT’S UP NOW?

Beyond that, I’ve had my period for fourteen days (YES, SERIOUSLY), so that might be contributing to the whole, um, sensitivity issue, not to mention the fact that there are, um, POSTPARTUM HORMONE DIPS. Did you know this? I did not know this. I mean, this should be LOGICAL, but it wasn’t until I found myself sweating buckets at night (and demanding that Adam crank up the air conditioning, I DO NOT LIE) and having the same headache for ten days straight that I’m all, I FEEL LIKE I JUST HAD A BABY and then I’m all, OH RIGHT, dumbass, your body kind of thinks you did.

So that’s special.

I have also welcomed wine back into my life with open arms. Trader Joe’s is happy for the sudden spike in revenue, I am certain.

And it’s funny, while I write this all down, it sounds like the day to day is very sad and sweaty and fraught with trash-and fire-type drama, when I promise, it isn’t. Well, until Friday, it was fraught with deadlines and not much else, but even then, as now, it was just pretty normal. We ARE returning to normal, and I completely credit Sam with that. Well, that and the fact that our default buttons are sort of set to “HAPPY.” But really, you have to be normal with a kid around. They’re like wee reflections of our own feelings. Bad mood? Kid will be a nightmare. Crying? Shit, she’s crying too. So we faked it for a little while, and then it started becoming real. She’s a riot, that tiny person who wears my gloves and pretends to be me while scolding the dog and putting her pants on her head. (Um, not that I wear my pants on my head. Well, not OUT, anyway.)

But still, I am shamed to admit, I’d like another one of those.

Happy Monday! Tomorrow I am stocking up on carbon monoxide detectors! JUST BECAUSE.

(What?)

*Talking Heads

19 comments January 30th, 2011