OK, I think I’m ready.

I’ve pretty much kept to myself since Gramma died, stayed in my own little world, let my phone ring (except for C). I guess I’m ready to rejoin the real world. I started returning phone calls today. I still have to call Fiona, Michelle, Dana, and Stacey.

I miss her so much. I miss the woman I remember. One minute I’m fine and the next I feel an imminent panic attack and close my eyes and will my heart to quit hammering and my nose to open so I can breathe freely again.

Gramma did so much for me. When I went to Gramma’s house, everything was “just so.” She had a place for everything, and everything in its place. That was so calming, so reassuring. I felt safe. The house where I grew up was always a bit chaotic, stuff stacked where it would not fall down most of the time and I was always so overwhelmed by that. I wanted to do something about it, but I didn?t know where to even start. I do not fault my family for that, I’m just saying that as a fact. Now that I have a house of my own and two sons bent on getting out every single toy they own, I truly appreciate all the work it takes to keep a house like Gramma did. *chuckling* I remember a few times that Gramma and Grampa came to visit us and the insane crash cleaning the house would get. Even little T would have jobs a pre-schooler can handle. Mom and I would do the wash assembly line fashion and you would barely recognize the house when we were all done. And we would clean right up to the second Gramma and Grampa were getting out of the car. I remember one time Mom frantically handed me some weird horse thing, a bag of capped syringes or something, and whispered anxiously, ?stick this in the closet and run it out to the barn later?. *chuckling* The house would stay clean for a few days after Gramma and Grampa left, but quickly return to its original state of chaos.

Gramma and Grampa also prepared to send The Seester and I to college. She had such faith in us. Then I failed a few classes and I am quite ashamed of myself for that. Now that I?ve went back to school and I have student loans out and I?m doing well, I think Gramma would be proud. I started out last January working really hard and I thought I was aiming for the 4.0 so I could prove I wasn?t the screw up. Grades came back and Dad said, ?Good job! I?m really proud of you!? but that wasn?t as fulfilling as I thought it?d be. I still felt nothing much had changed. It was dumb of me to think that would change a family dynamic that was set in motion 32 years ago. Then by summer, I was working just as hard, maybe harder. But I was doing it for me. And Tom?s encouragement and praise meant more to me than my family?s applause. I?m really proud of myself. I plan on straight A?s again this spring. I?m looking forward to school starting on Monday. I had a pretty crappy break, and probably the worst Christmas ever, but there?s always next Christmas. Life goes on. I don?t like the way I react to things that make me angry. I get so damn mad and then I stew and stew and stew while running the potential conversation and conflict through my head and all the different endings the scenarios might have. Today I got a notice from the bank that I had two overdrafts and a fee of $50. I had ordered clothes from Chadwicks and they offered deferred billing. But they charged me anyway. OMG I was so pissed. Then when I called customer service, the chick got all snotty with me and I got even more pissed. I hate that feeling. I absolutely detest it. I feel like someone wronged me and there?s nothing I can do about it. I feel so helpless and out of control. Even after I come up with my plan of action, I completely obsess over it all the way until resolution. I need to work on that. Know how long it took me to write that letter to The Seester? Three hours. Know how many times I hit the backspace key and moved words around? Countless. Know how late I laid in bed last night obsessing about the trouble and what she might say? Until after 3am. Sometimes I feel so unsure of myself, and other times I feel so competent. I just wish I felt competent more often than I feel unsure! I thought that as I got older, I would feel more capable and more at peace. I was wrong. Is this just a normal part of being an adult or am I hopelessly neurotic? Or both?! When Gramma lived at Garnet Place, I would go over there and she?d ask about the boys and I?d tell her what trouble Rocky got in most recently and she?d sit back and pause for a minute and then tell me what she thought would be a good solution and I would think, ?Why didn?t I think of that?? It just seemed so obvious. I should’ve asked her the kinds of questions I have now. Buh-Bye, Gramma, buh-bye.

I like being married. More specifically, I like being married to Tom. When we go to bed, he always makes sure something is touching, even if it?s just his foot on my calf. He has this really annoying habit, though, of sneaking his foot over to my side and quickly tracing the length of the bottom of one of my feet with his big toe. Then he chuckles in a truly evil manner as I shriek, jump, and move my foot away from him at approximately the speed of light. My feet are very ticklish. Even though he loves to torture by tickling, I am very thankful for him. He is my biggest cheerleader, he does housework, he treats me like a queen (no not that kind of queen, the good kind, silly), and he knows when something is bothering me before I know something is bothering me. His powers in this department are absolutely uncanny. He knows the difference between ?Nothing. (There?s nothing wrong, I feel fine)? and ?Nothing. (Ask me four more times and then I will tell you.)? and sometimes it takes all four times for me to realize hey, there is something there that was bothering me and I thought it was just not even worth bringing up. He is like the Skwish Police. He knows when I am skwishing something down instead of dealing with it and he calls me on it every time. He?s going back to school to be a therapist, and he is going to be the next Dr. Laura. Syndicated across the nation, folks. And you can say you knew him when.

I?ve started this huge job of scanning in all my pictures and trying to date them and categorize them. Whew! Why didn?t they come up with digital cameras a long time ago?! Also, to prove to you exactly how anal I am, I am also tagging each filename as the date then the initials of the people in the picture so I can search quickly. For instance, I do a search in pictures folder for TA and every single picture I have with Tom in it pops up. Yup, I may be struggling with some sort of behavioral disorder.

That’s all my news… further updates as events warrant… *wink*

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Author: Dory

Believer. Wife. Mom. Deaf chick. ADD-addled. Photographer. Graphic designer. Blogger. Guano whacknut. Not necessarily in that order.