It’s the little things that count

My husband and I are in the later steps of purchasing a house.  We offered on one we loved, they countered, we countered back, they accepted.  We are now moving forward with the whole mortgage deal.  It’s nervewracking and to the surprise of my readers, but not so much myself, it is not flail inducing.

What is flail inducing is the “compound feelings” I have.

When I feel overwhelmed, instead of focusing on the issue that is causing that sensation, I instead end up focused on a million smaller, stupider, much more insignificant things that induce what I like to call “Grand Mal Tourette’s”.  The massive arm flapping, head jerking, “Kermit the Frog got nothin’ on this shit!” sorts of spasms.

Today I got upset about my hair.  It has not been cut in over a year, is 6-8 inches long (depends where you measure from), needs to be tucked behind my ears (I take scissors and hack it off at that point), and takes for effing EVER to wash.

Nobody here in this fucking podunk state will cut it!  Women only do braiding or styling (which is NOT the same as full out shearing my head like a sheep), and I do not trust a man to do my hair.  The women want me to do braids because they’ll get $300 for that.  Here’s the problem though….it takes HOURS to complete, my head ends up sore and itchy, I can’t wash it, and it sits on my neck in ways that REALLY bother me (they will induce tics).

I am NOT the kind of woman willing to suffer for beauty.  I am lazy.  I do not wear make up, I get annoyed at the thought of even having to pick out my hair, and I hate showering because it takes 20 minutes to shampoo and condition (and conditioning is a MUST).

I want to get in the shower, take 5-6 minutes to wash my hair, do the rest of my business, and get out.  I do not want to style it.  I do not own a curling iron, I do not own a hair dryer, it is a small miracle that I own any sort of hair care utensil AT ALL.

Other things that have induced panic?  Finding a new veterinarian.

I hate change.  Despise change.  I am NEVER excited about change.  I like things to stay the same, even if I hate them, because I like routine.  I like predictability.  I like “same ol’ same ol'”.

Finding a new veterinarian is like finding your wedding dress.  Or some other sort of dumbass fucking metaphor.  Like pulling teeth.  It is time consuming, frustrating, and most of the time you want to die because your new vet is never as good as the vet you first had.

We won’t even get started on my concerns about money.  Especially since S may be sick.  I’ll do whatever I need to do for my dog, and that can never be questioned, but I do not know any “average” money earning American that is NOT concerned about money and their bills and their budget.

The result of all these stupid little things that I’ve been thinking about because I’m trying to ignore thinking about the big huge life changing thing J and I are about to embark on have resulted in the following (and this is just today):
Punched the shower wall
Fell down the stairs (only half the flight, don’t worry)
Punched my car window
Smacked the computer table
Burned myself on the space heater
Kicked the cat (that was all just a matter of really unfortunate timing for all involved)
Nearly lost a finger to a large knife
Dropped a pizza (ok that was yesterday, but I’m still counting it)
Falling out of bed

So, as you can see, it’s the little things that count when it comes to your brain spazzing the fuck out.

Ain’t that grand?

Flail on,
– Classical Spazz

 

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~ by ClassicalSpazz on March 10, 2011.

One Response to “It’s the little things that count”

  1. Well… I can take out weave pretty good! Though it was totally and completely gross the one time I did it because this bitch has dandruff like WHOA. *adds “Not having black people hair” to her list of things to be grateful for*

    It also takes me 20+ minutes in the shower but only because I like standing under the water not doing anything.

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