I’ve been under some stress lately.
When I say “some”, I mean a lot. I’m not going to quantify it (as if I could), nor will I have a pissing contest with anyone else about who has more stress in one’s life. (When it comes to pissing contests, diabetics always win. We can drink way more water and pee way more than most.)
Everyone deals with stress differently and I’m not dealing with it quite as well as I normally would.
I’m physically in another state now (mentally…another universe), bunking down with my brother, sister-in-law and adorable five-year-old niece (who can run mental circles around me any day of the week). They are all saints for opening their home for me and the munchkin while we are looking for a new place to live. (And John? Saint himself for spending as much time with us when he’s not at work and then driving back to his own brother’s house at night because there isn’t enough room…)
The house we currently own (in another state) is in contract Purgatory. If Dante wrote about contracts, he’d put them in a circle of hell (A lower circle, but hell none the less.), awaiting the due diligence period to end. In our state, sellers should be given a large sheet of bubble wrap to keep them distracted and an unending supply of Xanax. It turns out that between the time we purchased the house and now, real estate laws have significantly changed in favor of the buyer. As in: even though we have a signed contract and a deposit, if the buyer decided tomorrow that the color of the sky wasn’t the right shade of blue, the contract can be voided and money returned without having to give a reason. I wish I was kidding.
The buyer wants to close in, oh…. 24 days from now. Cool, right? But we have to have a place to live and put our stuff in 24 days. In another state. Without knowing for sure that the color of the sky won’t change, we are in Limbo. (Which is actually a circle of hell according to Dante; the first circle. So, I’m putting us there with the fun pagans who obviously like dancing the… “Everybody Limbo!”)
We’ve been looking at houses and even found one we want (which is tough to do in the are we want to live in), but what happens if we enter into a contract and then our buyer…See where I am going? So, with the gracefulness of a flat-footed elephant, I’ve been trying to dance with agents on all sides to make sure we don’t end up owning two houses. If I can’t get a conga line going soon, we’ll lose the offer on the new place.
But I still have to find a house, because if the stars don’t all align and this doesn’t happen, we can’t live in a van down by the river.
On top of it all, new insurance cards haven’t come in the mail yet (or maybe they have, except my mail is on hold because we are in another state), I need to get appointments to see doctors soon, and my blood sugars have been doing their own versions of the limbo if you’ve seen my Dexcom. (“How low can you go?” was replaced last week with: “Pump up the basal, pump it, pump it….” Salt N Pepa’s version of the limbo song.) Medically, there’s a lot going on, but let’s just keep it at… diabetes is not helping.
I’m told that dancing can help alleviate stress. So, I’m just going to close my eyes, put on some music, and keep limboing until I can’t anymore.
(Promise I’ll be back to my normal chirpy chipper self soon. I am normally that way, right? Right? RIGHT?????)