Right now, I feel like life is being launched at me by a tennis ball thrower. House shopping sucks and is stressful as hell. Pretty sure the Husband has fallen in love with a house I’m not really keen on. My father is gearing up for aortic heart valve surgery next Wednesday, which is good because that means he’s healthy enough to do the replacement valve surgery… so different from two weeks ago when doctors were telling us he wasn’t going to make it more than a few days.
I’m dreading moving. I know that sounds weird, but I have lived here a long time and with that comes stuff. You accumulate stuff when you don’t move around much and I have stuff. Packing and moving is always something I have dreaded. I hated it when I was young, I’m not fond of it now. It isn’t just the change in life that comes with moving, it’s the physical demands of moving. How heavy do I make my boxes of books (of which I will have many)? Where the hell am I going to put things? What the hell am I going to do with all the stuff when I get there? Do I want to cut down on stuff? If so, what do I want to get rid of? Those sorts of things. I admire people who can just pack up and move. I’ve never been great at it.
It’s worse now that I have a shoulder that slips out socket at will and a bad ankle and a sciatic nerve that seems to want to scream at me. Not to mention the problems with my lower legs… maybe the packing, carrying, and moving of shit will make the injections wear off quicker and I’m suddenly going to need injections in the middle of it.
Will I have time to work? Will I find my new office conducive to work? Or am I going to have a panic fueled melt down and freak out? The last one seems like a strong candidate at the moment.
I’ve already dealt with one jackass in the bidding on a house process. The seller thought very highly of the property even though it isn’t worth as much as he imagined it to be. I knew this going into the bidding process because several of my family members live on that specific road and tried to sell me that exact same house a few years ago when it needed a lot of work that would have resulted in the destruction of my romantic relationship with my now husband.
My husband and I do not work well together. We mostly end up in screaming matches calling each other morons. I get it, I’m very book smart, he’s very mechanically inclined. We both think we are always right. And we are both stubborn as mules and both have well hidden, nearly psychotic tempers… It can go from non-agreement to hurling threats at each other very quickly – we discovered this while trying to install a TV at his parents house… we couldn’t make it through installing a TV, there is no way we could have renovated a house together. I’m not sure how packing and moving will go. I think there will be some conflicts.
Plus, there is always shit to buy when you move. You get to the new place and realize you don’t have enough curtains or blinds and you suddenly need more towels for the guest bathroom and you haven’t a clue where to hang the dartboard or where to put repeaters to make sure the internet goes through the entire house… Yep, I’m already worrying about these things and we haven’t even bought a place yet. That’s the fun of an anxiety disorder.
And we are going to need some big things, like a couch. Right now we have a dual-recliner couch and a futon in our living room, but I’m taking the futon to my office. Lola and I like it more than anyone else. That just leaves two chairs in the living room for three adults and Lola the Destroyer, who does take up quite a bit of room for a medium-sized dog. At sixty-pounds, she requires as much space as an adult person.
Anyway, it took us three years to get a home-loan and now that we have one, I feel like I am being drowned by my life. My dad’s condition is definitely a contributing factor. He can’t live without the replacement valve and it takes a team of surgeons to do the surgery he needs, so it isn’t like if he gets bad, they can do an emergency procedure. It has to be prearranged.
It’s also had me thinking about my will. Most people don’t realize it, but writers have very complicated legacies… My heirs will receive royalties on Flawless Dreams until 2092. They will stop receiving royalties on Elysium Dreams in 2089. All those copyrights have to be accounted for. Most writers put them into trusts, which is fine, but who to put as the executor? The nephew I’m closest to emotionally is only 13 years younger than me. It might seem like a wide gap, but it really isn’t. Especially considering males have shorter life spans than females and he has already been diagnosed with a heart condition in his 20’s. At the moment, there is only 1 great nephew and no other heirs. The nephew I’m closest to isn’t sure he wants kids, so I told him to wait until he was sure (in some ways, he takes after me a great deal). It is very possible then that Jude will have to be the executor of my estate. That’s all fine and dandy, if he is capable of it. I don’t know if my books will be generating any income in 2080, but it’s possible that they could be. (for the record, in 2080, I will be 100 years old, so it is very unlikely that I will be around for it) Also, I have two cousins I trust that I could put as executors, but they are both older than me – one is 12 years older than me – this is the only drawback to not having children of my own, however, I love the idea of being able to help any great nephews and nieces that come along in the future… It’s just a matter of deciding who to trust enough to put in charge… Of course, the same problems exist when you have children, meaning maybe I’m not missing out on anything there.
Ok, tomorrow’s post is about philosophical historical incidents… enough of my mad ramblings tonight.