When Life Hands You Shit, Plant a Fucking Garden

 I’ve been away for a little while…gardening.

 Let me rephrase that, I’ve been “gardening.”

Life’s been busy doling out the shit piles and I’ve been busy making sure it doesn’t go higher than my knees hips waist armpits eyeballs.

 Sigh.

 I’ll try to keep the woes to a minimum, because to be honest with you, there haven’t been all that many lately, it’s just that they’ve all been doozies. Doo-zies. The rest of the crap is just that: crap. Daily obnoxiousness of job and family keeping me standing at the ready with the shovel. I’m starting to think I should invest in a large fan and just start dishing the shit right back.

 I know a lot of the problems are not helped by me being a bit of an overprotective mother enabler. I’ve been busy helping Spawn get moved. They lived in that tiny apartment for eight years, and in that time, things kind of get embedded in places. There’s a lot of clean up to do and it all has to be done by this weekend.

That apartment has those cupboards that you only open twice: once when you move in and fill it with crap, and again when you move out and rediscover your treasures. Tiny apartment crammed with two people and all their pre-apartment stuff and then all the stuff that accumulates via gifts, and a hoarder complex, and three cats…

Soon-To-Be-Ex-Spawn-In-Law is of the opinion that picking up after himself was something he preferred to not do. Spawn is also not the greatest in that department, so things were a little…uhhh… it was crowded in that tiny abode. Then came the split and S.T.B.E.S.I.L. took what he wanted and left the rest. All the rest of EVERYTHING for Spawn to manage. Including the clean up. It’s been overwhelming because we can’t go over there as often as we’d like because we’re too damn tired after work. (The “we” I’m referring to is Tam and I, Spawn goes over there every day after work).

This coming weekend is the last one we have to make the place shine and I’m thinking fuck the shine, we’ll be lucky if we can make it not sticky and covered in cat fur. Spawn’s been good about cutting her losses and moving on, but I look at the things being thrown away and my first thought is of waste. But I can no longer step in and try to salvage her life. I must allow her to turn the pages of that chapter. It’s really, REALLY hard folks. Really. I love my son-in-law very much, and my heart aches at what he and Spawn are going through. I’m also very sad for his parents because I have an idea of what they’re going through. This is hard. It’s all hard, but I'm learning to handle it.

 My sons have been amazing throughout this upheaval, helping at the apartment when they can, pitching in and just supporting. I’ll be glad when this weekend is over and I can start focusing on my own home once again. Things are starting to pile up around here.

 I talked to my mother recently, filling her in on most of the gory details of the big move. When I alluded to the fact that I believe Spawn would benefit from therapy for her housekeeping issues, my mother asked if I thought the same about her. I said yes.

 Because I’m an idiot, that’s why, so if you were wondering what all that screaming and wailing and gnashing of teeth was this past week, now you know. It was my mother being faced with my un-sugarcoated opinion.

 We have what feels like a shit ton of cats (there are 4), and thankfully they are all adjusting to the new living arrangements. Tam was sure it would be a nightmare, but they settled in a lot faster than we expected. The old lady cat is feeling much better now that she has room to run, and she’s become quite the matriarch. The young thing is still pretty skittish, but she’s decided I’m ok and will frequently grace me with her presence. I’m still going to take her to the vet and get her fixed though.

I have a manuscript I'm trying to edit. I’m only on the second run through with it, but I’ve already hit a large section of wall that would not allow me to pass. I’ve managed to push my way into that particular section, and I have a good idea where to go with the rest of it, but it’s such a large chunk, and it’s going to change a great deal of how the story reads, that it feels overwhelming and I’m constantly tempted to just pitch the entire mess into the fireplace and become a reclusive…recluse, and I’d totally do that, except for the job that I need in order to pay the bills...BREATHE!

The job is still there, and we’ve all reached that time of year when we’re just more than a little bit burned out and must decide if we want to come back to it for the next year. I’m thinking about it. Actually, I said I would, but I also did a little research into other job possibilities within the district and I’m keeping my options open. Whenever I begin to doubt that decision, I look at the scars on my arm and know those doubts are good for me to have. Spring has sprung with all the zaniness of bizarre weather, weird behavior, and a plethora of allergies that have made us all want to crawl under the house and hum with the feral cats living down there. (They’re not really humming, they’re growling at each other, but it sounds like humming to us.)

Now Google went and changed Blogger so I have no fucking clue how I’m going to post this thing. (P.S. I HATE the "new" blogger layout for posting. It really pisses me off.)

I think it’s time to plug in that fan.