It’s anniversary time again! Or how I bail the sea with teacups.


Yes, dear readers. Anniversary #2 is looming ever closer and I am, as usual, a complete fuckall mess. Barely coping. All of my nerves are on top of my skin. Everything feels like a cock up. I just put my head down and try to move somewhat forward. Even though I am obviously bailing the sea with teacups. There have been far too many changes this summer and this, as you know, just knocks me off kilter and makes me in general feel awful.

What is going right? Wee Geek has moved to San Diego and is doing really well. He’s in a therapeutic setting right now and this is great for him. He still struggles with the depression, but the sunshine is doing him lots of good and this makes me happy. Him too. I wish that he would have come home, but this is working, so I’m not going to fuck with it until it’s not working. Which is really hard. I don’t like him being so far from home. It’s not ideal for me. But it’s not about me.

We had a major shift in my day job. It is taking every ounce of self control that I have to stay planted in my seat because I am still kicking myself for leaving my last day job. At least financially. Atmosphere wise it was completely toxic and unhealthy for everyone. In that way I am completely glad to be out of that. It hasn’t changed much. But things would probably be drastically different if I was still there. But I don’t know. The powers that be really had issues with me and I think that would not have changed much. I don’t know how many of the issues were caused by my former boss, however.

So shift in day job. I’m having to take on a combined role. That I hate. And already, the plan for the combined role in theory is so that we can advocate for families better, but apparently I have already fucked that up. So a new rule has been added to my list.

  1. Stay in your cube.
  2. When in doubt, see Rule #1.
  3. Only advocate for families in theory. Actual practice of advocacy is frowned upon.

I get lots of flack at my day job. Because I don’t socialise. Because I’m not actually a people person. Because I just don’t quite fit (damn that autism puzzle piece thing). But these girls have a way of making me feel as if I am always wrong and shaming me for that not quite fit. I am always left with this idea that they are barely tolerating me. They are all buddies. I feel that gap. I truly do. And it’s not that I want this great friendship with my coworkers. I don’t. But I always have this third wheel feeling. Which most of the time, I ignore it. Other times it feels like a giant hole in the office. You know, the one where the air is heavy with some kind of tension that you are trying to interpret whether it’s real or imagined. I never know if it’s coming from me or them. And that is the hard part. This new role has me running in place trying to figure out what my job is. There is also this underlying hint of sarcasm about my participation in office “outings”. I go occasionally. More for them than me. But I go. And then I get comments about not having to participate. Sigh. Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.

So. Anniversaries. Fix-it-guy will be gone 2 years tomorrow. We all have our coping mechanisms. I don’t know how healthy mine are, but I move forward. I spend more time crafting than normal lately. But I also have more shows than normal to get ready for. I spend more time binge watching tv. Prolly  not healthy, either. My friends check on me non stop during this week. I nod and pretend to be keeping my shit together when it really looks like scientist visiting week in the monkey cage. The house grows ever nearer to being in my name. Except this bit of things is moving more at the speed of evolution than in any reasonable time frame. I’m less in “burst into tears” mode than I was last year. But I still miss that big tall goofy guy like crazy.

What did coping look like this year? Bonus daughter #2 got engaged and is getting married in October. In Cancun. Bonus daughter #1 is crazy busy with her store. Me, I am still just dwaddling back here. A step sideways. A step backward. A step the other sideways. I feel like all I have done for 2 years is wait. Wait for lawyers. Wait for decisions by other people. Wait for something to happen or not happen. Wait. Wait. Wait. Fucking Wait. And let’s not forget the frustration. Jesus jumping crimany on a pogo stick has there been frustration. I think I’m ahead and I’m really in another state following a completely different set of instructions for assembling Ikea furniture when I’m really trying to set the time on the VCR.

And can we talk about that eclipse for a second. I had special goggles and a viewer box and was really excited for something different in my little mundane world in the darkness of this week from hell. Of course, I had to reprimanded for wasting too much time on it. I get so tired of other people micro managing my time. Jobs. Who needs them? This whole last 2 years has been like watching someone that looks like you win the lottery and take your dream vacation, while you are chained to a tree with a very short leash inside a doghouse with no windows.

I don’t know what this next year will bring. Pray for lots of Liverpool wins because that makes me crazy happy. Pray for things to start feeling a little more like I can breathe. I want to get the website back up and running. Get some sales. Get. Out. Of. This. Place. Whatever the fuck that looks like.

So, darling love of my life. While I feel like my heart weighs more than a herd of elephants and is threatening to break apart and wash me away in the flood of grief, I still love you more than all the fishies in the all the oceans. More than all the squids and octopussies in the sea. And more than all the sea monkeys, too. My life has a gigantic 6 foot 2 hole that no one can fill and I miss you like absolute crazy. Nothing is as good or fun without you. I cry every time I hear that song. And that one. And yes, that one, too. I want to have you back in the worst way.

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Fighting Bank of America or How to Become the Owner of Your Husband’s House


Dearest readers, here we are again. The drama with the Bank of Asshat-ery may almost be at a close. A quick catch up. When Fix-it-guy died August 24, 2015, we owed $4711.90 on our house. You will also remember that Incompetent Dumbass Lawyer told me not to make any  payments on the house. I dutifully did this, because he’s the expert, he should know the thing that I am supposed to do, right? Oh dear reader, you are obviously just as deluded as I am about experts. So Fast forward 19 months and a new Bright and Shiny Lawyer. We had our settlement conference with the Bank of Asshat-ery’s lawyer.

So, it must be a rule that you must send your most cunty lawyer to do a job. She is dumpy looking and self important. Actually looked as if she might have just rolled out of bed. She wasted 15 minutes complaining about having to drive an hour to my county because our county doesn’t allow these sort of things to happen over the phone. Once in a conference room she proceeds to hand me a Harry Potter novel of paperwork to “assume the mortgage”. Now, dear reader, we have made it abundantly clear that I have no intention in the universe of assuming the mortgage. I have wanted to pay it off since the beginning. That has always been the plan. To finish what Fix-it-guy started. And Bright and Shiny Lawyer told Cunty Faced Lawyer this. Cunty Faced Lawyer gave the longest most audible sigh and then asked me if I even had the money to pay it off. I damn sure do, bitch, let me write you a Nightmare Before Christmas check. What was that amount again?

Then I find out it’s a process. Bright and Shiny Lawyer encourages Cunty Faced Lawyer to call the bank for a payoff amount which is somewhere hovering between 2 times more than the original and 3 times more than the original. They think I should pay for their foreclosure attorney. And here’s another kicker, I get to pay for the imaginary escrow balance that consists of the taxes that aren’t due until April and the house insurance that isn’t due until August. So I’m fine. Let’s walk over to my bank and transfer the money since you only take certified funds. No, it’s a process, they will email the actual payoff amount on Monday. So Monday comes and so does an email from Bright and Shiny Lawyer, somehow the amount of the payoff has jumped almost $2000 dollars from the amount quoted on Friday. What the fuck changed? No one knows. But we are now very solidly closer to the 3 times amount than the 2 times amount.

On Wednesday I trudge down to the bank. My heart is breaking. I feel like I can’t breathe and I’m trapped in a cyclone of hell. I do meaningless things all morning because my brain needs some repetitive thing that I have to concentrate on slightly to feel calm. Nothing works. I am in tears. To the bank I go.

And the bank teller hassles me about my name on my account. This is a 20 minute process and I am barely hanging on with my fingernails to the edge of sanity that is suddenly asking me if I really care about hanging on to it. I do not. Finally they decide that this transaction can be made. Another 10 minutes to figure out the paperwork. And then some hassle over where the physical address is. For. An. Electronic. Transaction. I’m pretty sure that I don’t have to provide any other person/entity with their own address when completing a transaction. I asked the girl to please not fuck with me today and just do the damned transaction. My fingernails are slipping and I can no longer promise that I will remain calm for the ride we are on.

Finally the transaction is processed and I’m presented with a receipt. Oh joy. I bop to the post office to mail off complaint against Incompetent Dumbass Lawyer with the state and then on to Bright and Shiny Lawyer’s office to give him receipt of payoff.

I go home exhausted and in a flood of tears again. I do not real relieved to have this done. I feel apprehensive and awful. It feels like I’ve chipped off the last bit of Fix-it-guy. I feel like he will be gone and he is already starting to feel like less than a picture. The memories of his voice are gone and I can no longer imagine his gentle kisses or the way he held me. It is the last thing in my life with his name on it. It feels wrong and awful and horrible to change it. I know that I have to. But it feels bad. Everyone assures me that it was always my house too. But see, I never wanted to own a house. That was his dream. And I feel as if I am still living it. Without real purpose. Now that he’s gone. That dream was beautiful with him. Unpurposeful and surreal without him. I am starting to feel like an episode of “Legion”. Minus the Pink Floyd references.

Despite my exhaustion, I did not sleep a wink that night. I lay there in the bed staring at the ceiling. Flipping channels. Trying to figure out what happens next. Because there are still more bits of this to do. Just fragments of things to settle. I have no more energy for these fights. I am angry and don’t know who to be angry at. I can’t be pissed at Fix-It-Guy. He obviously never planned to die. So my anger get directed askew at  the Bank of Asshat-ery, Life in General, Incompetent Dumbass Lawyer and the Universe as a whole. I wish I had fireballs or some other cool super power to throw at all of these things. But, no. I do not.

Dear Reader, a cautionary tale is to be found in all of this. Do not choose Bank of America as your mortgage company. I don’t care how many sparkles they put on their unicorns. I don’t care what the incentives are. Stay the hell away from them. They are a bunch of insensitive greedy bastards.