Really Sans Souci

A new bed...a real bed.  No more sleeping on the couch or chair.  The cats love it.  In fact I rarely see them  of late.  Here are The three of them taking up the bed and leaving no room for me.  Last night was heavenly.  The four of us all cuddled in bed, Gonif a bump under the blanket.  Life is good...eh?

Sans Souci

In the new house and still in the process of unpacking.  Taking Monday off to finish off the bedrooms.  And also supervise the comings and goings of the last workmen.

All is going well. Today the master bedroom will be unpacked and the TV set up and I should sleep in the bed tonight.  Yankel already loves the bed as it gets full morning sun.  He is lost on a pool of sunlight.  Also  on the calendar for today is the hanging of paintings and the hauling away of boxes. So really only the music room and the bedroom need immediate attention ,

Right now I am just catching my breath before people start showing up.  I feel like a quick nap is in order.

PTSD

Is rampant.  I have it.  You have it.  Trauma is the issue of the day.  How can someone be removed enough from trauma yet treat someone for a similar traumatic situation.  It's all nonsense and life does not really go on...except in fits and starts.  One trauma ends only to embark on a new traumatic journey.

My first therapist had a stroke during the course of my treatment and I had to find a new therapist which was a clusterfuck of a process.  I finally got a good one, by luck or tenacity.  My psychiatrist was in a serious automobile accident (are we seeing a pattern?) and while he still sees me once every six months for medication checks, he is still rehabbing on his injuries, years later.  Yes, damn it, it is all about me and being bereft.  I think I am an albatross for therapists and psychiatrists, hanging about their collective necks as if the were the Ancient Mariner.  I can't fully express the hurt I am feeling for Hyphen.  And the woman who was her back-up in this case has yet to return my two phone calls.  Which is pissing me off, which is making me sadder, which is trauma and fux it.

So to the collective Giraffe Lovers: what the hell should I be doing other than moving and self absorbed pity.  Redundancy. 

Oh, my...Hyphen

Yesterday, if you were sentient, the first photo you saw in the blog was a hole in my wall.  Today there is one in my heart.   My beloved Hyphen, she of the giraffes and therapists to the best and brightest, like moi, was in an unfortunate (is there really a fortunate one?) taxi cab accident and is out of commission for at least a month I am told.  It does not upset me that I will not have MY therapist for a while; I am actually doing rather well considering all the disruption in my life.  What upsets me, causes me pain is the fact that she is hurt.  I wonder, long term, the effect this will have.  Now, gentle reader, you may not know this but now you will.  My just turned 90 year old grandmother was riding in a funeral procession in a car with three of her sisters when a Montgomery Ward (remember them?) truck shot through the procession and T-Boned the car, killing my Dorothy, my beloved grandmother, instantly.  I was "fortunate" enough to get the call at work and for almost nine years I was unable to grieve   I ended up having a breakdown those nine years later, only to recuperate at the lovely Stress Unit out in Owosso (that's in Michigan) for two weeks.  I have the same sense of numbness now regarding Hyphen.   Totally out of my hands.  She, who always would remind me how short and transitional life is, is now in a local hospital, soon to be rehab.  I don't fret for the time I will be without her.  I fret for fear of taking my seemingly petty problems to someone who has endured so much physical and emotional pain.  The aunt who was driving the car wherein my grandmother was killed suffered a broken pelvis and was never really the same mentally after the accident.  I remember my dad taking me to visit her in the hospital the day after the funeral and her begging me not to hate her for what had transpired.  My father was a wise man in taking me to see her and bringing me to a point of forgiveness.  Can I forgive myself for Hyphen, for the way I feel; not abandoned but somehow responsible for her pain.  I don't know if this makes any sense...it did last night to my AA friend.  But I am sure Sophie will tell me to not take it out on me.  To be rational.  How can I even consider seeing another therapist when she is hurt.  And how can I see her again after she has been so mangled?  Not knowing the actual injuries is a trifle upsetting as well.  To only know she will be in rehab speaks volumes about the nature of the accident.  I am bereft. 

Before and after

This is the original hole in the wall whence what was the kitchen.

 And now this is the mostly finished kitchen.  What an improvement over the hole that once was.  The faucet needs to be added and the back splash.  All that will be done by Saturday.  Indeed the painting will be done thorough the house and by the end of Monday the floors will all be finished like the last photo in this array.  And yes, Tootsie, once again I am just too pumped to sleep.  The boys are all calmly resting  and I am bouncing off the walls. Plus a  little GERD is also keeping me awake.  By this time next week I will be wide awake in my new bed in my newly remodeled home.  I did find out the plumber has to come today and snake out the drains in the bathroom.  How that old woman managed to live it that dump of an ill cared for house is beyond me.  It was a short sale and initially I felt sorry for the lady but the mess she left behind disabused me of that notion rather quickly.  So as I sit upright and hope the reflux calms enough so I can get at least a few hours of sleep, I am doing emotional cartwheels over the beautiful remodel that Brad and his crew did in two months.  Yes, and also this week the blinds will go in, the washer and dryer will be delivered and installed and come Tuesday the 24th I will be in the midst of packing with Bonnie and her crew.  I guess today is in fact Thursday and I have a busy day ahead of me and some sleep might help me make a better day of it but, hell no, I am just so damn excited I could plotz. And plotz I have and will continue.

  Does not this red oak floor look fabulous?   This will go so nice with the birch built in book shelves in the living room.  All I can say is  big fat WOW!

Magic Plastic Tuna and her disappeared toaster

We had a party at work today and a few people brought in bagels.  Now, a little background.  When I lived on the other side of Technical Services I had brought in a bagel slicer and a black toaster.  When I moved to my present location I left the toaster in possession of the Magic Plastic Tuna.  That was a little over two years ago.  Today of all days she of the Plastic Tuna was querying everybody in Technical Services as to the location of the toaster I had entrusted to her years ago.  And to no avail.  Now, worry not gentle reader as there are two, count them, two toasters out in the Cyber Cafe.  Yet for the  next two hours  Magic Plastic Tuna was wandering about, bagel in tow, seeking a toaster.  It just boggles the mind that she was so intent on finding that toaster she had misplaced that she spent two hours and bothered countless people for that toaster.  Such is the pit bull essence of Magic Plastic Tuna.  I don't know if she ever got her bagel toasted but it did serve as comic relief on the order of Waiting for Godot.  Wait, here's the bus...off walks Godot and we have a picnic, sans toaster, wearing a breathing mask in case of an attack by a moldy book, arranged by color and size for all those OCD folks in the building.

This said, it was a bizarre day at OK Corral.  Thursday I have my evaluation which is not causing me any concern.  And then my Union training luncheon.  That will make for a quick day.  I have a session of reflexology tomorrow as well and Friday we go see Billy Strings.  This is all a delightful interlude before the move.  Sunday will be busy.  I should be able to get all the rugs down and set up the music room.  Get food and Coke in the fridge.  And then be ready for the big move.  I am anxious just to get it over.  The concert we planned on seeing next week was cancelled and that was a bit of kismet as I didn't think I would rally have time to go.

So, Hyphen, see how calm I be.  Valium is indeed mother's little helper.

Cheers

Oh, no she din't!

The official countdown commences. 

In one week, the 25th of March, my own March Madness will start its four block caravan east, from the Casa de Flatulence to Sans Souci.  To say my own gut is in an uproar is a minimalist understatement.  Hyphen is officially back from her break so maybe I will be able to see her before the regular Monday appointment.  But, let's be honest: I am really doing fine.  A tad stressed, perhaps immobile from the daunting tasks before me, but basically alright. Sans Souci is indeed sans.  The floors were finished yesterday and are happily drying.  The painting will be finished this Saturday.  Sunday we can move the rugs in, put the music room together, clear out and transport the items in the refrigerator, and put together the TV stand as well as the storage bench for in front of the picture window for the cats to watch their new world pass by.  I will run my dishwasher one last time and pack up my current kitchen.  Monday...one last day of work, dentist and Hyphen before packing on Tuesday and moving on Wednesday.  Not too much furniture to move from the condo; just a few chairs, my home office with the huge antique desk, coffee table and books...lots of boosk and CDs.  Mister Van will be bringing most of the furniture from his warehouse: dining set, bedroom suite and a new sofa.

However...the more I ponder this move the more stressed I am becoming.  Thank God for spring training baseball. This is my saving grace right now.  I go home, pop open a Coke and camp in front of the TV watching the baseball season take shape before me.  Hope does indeed spring eternal.    So in the spirit of the season I shall quote not Chaucer and his piercing of the drought of March to the root, or e.e. cummings' world of mud luscious and puddle wonderful, but my own two cents.

"Spring has Sprung, the Grass has Riz...I Wonder Where the Birdies Iz?"

Adieu.