Yo, universe. Yes, you. Stop it.
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Reportedly moving is right up there with death on the stress-o-meter.
I don’t know. Never experienced death. Don’t want to. It won’t be pretty.
I’m having a time of it right now. I have to stop thinking of the ways it could be worse, because I’m scared I’m going to give the universe ideas. Now, you say, the universe is pretty much just a concept, not an entity who can understand and act upon those understandings. And I’d agree with you. But I still don’t want to give it any ideas.
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The other day, the same day we got rearended, I took the kids to get their portrait taken. Of course they both fell asleep in the car and I didn’t have the heart to wake them up. Then it turned out that we were an hour late to the sitting anyhow. It was raining; let’s just go home.
On the way home there was a large Crack! on the windshield, and the babysitter and I both jumped in our seats. A rock or something, we thought.
Today I discovered that there was a good chunk taken out of the windshield. And there’s a crack starting to run through it. The windshield’s got to be replaced.
Oh joy. We get to pay the first $500.
Right before our auto insurance is about to expire.
And you know, we’re moving. So we’re going to renew our auto insurance and then move and have to re-renew it.
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Turns out Bank of America has completely fucked up our credit rating. Says one of our mortgage payments was 90 days late. Uh, BofA? We paid our mortgage by direct deposit, fuckers.
(Stress makes me swear like a sailor.)
I have to dig out the BofA statements, get on the phone, and keep dogging them until they fix it and fix it right now, so we can qualify for a new goddamn mortgage.
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I think I’ve been on the phone non-stop for the past three days. Setting up inspections. (Jesus, there are a lot of inspections when you want to sell a house. It’s getting to be expensive just to sell a damn house.) Calling various insurance companies. Finding out from the mortgage broker what else we have to do to qualify for a ridiculous mortgage.
Then I relax with my computer and unearth scary articles about how there are no preschool spots available in Silicon Valley.
I’d start taking Xanax or something, but I’m still nursing.
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We’ve picked our move date. Sure, I said. Let’s do it, I said. Everything will work out. Let’s leap into the unknown, I said. Thinking, of course, of the saying: “Leap and a net will appear.” I repeat that to myself a lot recently, in the hopes that the damned net-holders will show up and put the net out.
Any time, guys. Any time you want to put that net out, go ahead.
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Update: The babysitter came home from the zoo with the kids. Fia’s completely wiped out. But Simon woke up after a short nap and we cuddled for a while, which made me feel a little better. Then we shared some dinner. Are babies supposed to enjoy New England clam chowder that much?
I love my little honeys. And as long as I keep them in mind, I’m doing okay.