Making Sense

The oppresive air that's parked itself in our house is thick. It's choking us. We're waiting for everything.

• Waiting for gas to hit $4 a gallon so that our drive across the country is made considerably less comfortable. Say bye-bye to Holiday Inn, and hello to Betty-Lou's Travel Schack.
• Waiting for the company to call Venti. Why won't they call and give the go-ahead? Why does it all have to be so goddamned complicated?
• Waiting for my paycheck to hit the bank, which hasn't happened as it normally does. Naturally, having resigned from my job and this being my last paycheck I'm starting to become greatly concerned that it's NEVER going to be deposited into my account. If that is the case we cannot pay rent or other bills, and we're screwed to a wall. I got email notification that the money would be hitting my bank account on the 31st, as usual. It's never been this late in the day that it's gotten there - and it's usually been a day early.
• Waiting for this antidepressant, Lexapro, to kick in and help take away the racing thoughts, panic attacks, and - most recently - crying jags I've been having. I hope it makes me go mentally numb. I don't want to feel anything. I have to finish my brother's bait shop website before I lose all creativity, though. (Always some loose end like this hanging around.)
• Back again to waiting for specific times of the day. 4:15 when the kids get home. 6:15 when Venti gets home.
  

I'm lonely and, for the most part, friendless. All of my friends are people I've never met in person. That means one person, to be honest. I'm scared and I could use a couple of good friends to talk to. I haven't been out of the house since Sunday (it's now Wednesday), and up until that point I'd been inside from Wednesday evening until Sunday afternoon. I want out of here, but I have nowhere to go and no car with which to get there, as well as a fierce driving phobia. I'm a prisoner in my own fucking house. Wait - not my house because we're moving in 2 months, like it or not. Moving somewhere else in Virginia, or somewhere in Washington state. Hell, at this point I don't know anymore. And that scares me.

I should explain that we went the legal route and notified our landlord that we would not be renewing our lease this year. We gave her 62 days notice instead of the 60 we needed to give her. Aren't we on the ball? So, again, whether Washington holds what it was supposed to or not - we're moving out of this house we've lived in for 3 years.

Three years worth of stuff to get rid of. We have to clean, paint, clean some more, paint some more...and beg the Universe that Landlord Decaf will give us our $1500 deposit back to us. We know she won't, in the back of our minds, because she's an evil uber-bitch.

My precious Venti is so stressed out. There's "stressed out" and then there's "pegged." Venti is well beyond pegged. I feel like there's nothing I can do other than say 'pick up a bottle of wine on your way home.' Could anyone in the entire Universe deserve more of a break than him? NO!! Where is it??? It's not coming, and he needs it to!

And where is my mother fucking goddamn paycheck???????????

Fuck. Diaper-changing time. No, it never ends.