Well it’s official. I own a wreck in France. The papers have been signed, the key has been handed over which is quite amusing as the house has no back door. And so begins the seven day period during which a mad scramble must ensue to determine if we can make it work within the very tight budget. After the seven days is up then there’s no turning back.
Where the hell am I getting the strength for this one? I’m still not recovered from the last one. I think my house in Canada was finished in the middle of July so that’s about three months right? For some reason it feels like a fair bit has gone on since then. Oh yes. All that relocating to a foreign country stuff. I knew there was a reason why I feel as decrepit as this house. I swore up and down, literally, that there was no way I was getting into another mess for at least a year or two and (stamping of feet now) maybe never again. So I’m a homeowner and a liar.
Let me tell you this one will take the cake. I’ll need every bit of guts and grit my little gonads can produce because I don’t mind telling you I’m more than a little anxious. This will be house number 10 so you’d think I’d be able to do it in my sleep and intellectually, no problem. It’s the emotional part that gets me every time.
The stress of upheaval, the long hours, the never ending choices that have to be made. Not that a full day of deciding where to put electrical outlets isn’t a riveting and entertaining way to spend one’s time.
I am not a fan of mess and chaos and yet it’s the only consistent thing in my life. I’m worried about money, in case you forgot I have no income at present. I’m worried about not being able to speak French during this whole deal. Suppose I ask for a gas furnace and end up with a pink toilet instead?
I’m worried about being able to focus on getting my new job up and running. I’m worried about the state of the union, the marriage that is. Will this be the last straw that crashes through the matrimonial camel’s back?
Anyway, there’s no one to blame but myself. I made this decision and as I recall at the time I had my big girl pants on. I have to woman up and face the music. I have made my bed and now I have to lie in it. I have to step up to the plate and take one for the team. I have to stop using silly metaphors. My rambling point is that while I have willingly entered this tornado of a life, I do feel the effects of the storm (apparently one more left in the bottom of the barrel).
Courage must be found and found toute suite. Today is the first meeting at the wreck with every artisan in Burgundy. By the end I know I will be dizzy. The testosterone level will be in the red zone but I’m smack in the middle of PMS prime time. No wrecking balls required.