Is there a famous quote about expectations being the root of all disappointment somewhere out there? Because man alive, ain't that the truth.
Before I got engaged, I thought planning a wedding would be a snap. I'm an organized individual who loves DIY projects—what more could you need to throw together the perfect Big Day setup? I forgot to factor in all the people who would be attending that Big Day. And their opinions. And preferences. And the beefs they would have with the way we're choosing to do things. I forgot to consider the stress that inevitably comes with planning any event.
Moving in with Mr. W was much the same. I had these romantic notions about what it would be like to hunker down in his house. I'd have a lovely yard in which to relax. I'd have more space and an actual garage where I could park my car. And then I got there and storage was limited. My commute had about 150 moronic drivers on it. That lovely yard sucked every ounce of energy from my body for a week straight.
And then Mr. W left. And the sprinklers wouldn't shut off. And the new avocado tree got weepy. And last week it started to smell like wet cardboard or barnyard in the house—and I couldn't find the source.
Until last night.
I had been sniffing around since Wednesday, trying to trace the stench. Then I was walking into the kitchen and noticed the wood floor in the hallway was warped. Had it always been warped? I couldn't remember. I've only lived there 2 months...but I was pretty sure it wasn't buckling before. Suddenly I realized the smell might be connected to the floor, so I laid down and put my ear to it. I heard ocean. Not a good sign.
Unsure of what to do, I called Dirty Painter and he told me to go downstairs into the rental unit. I had to sort through a dozen sets of keys before I found the ones that would let me into the guest house. The air was thick with humidity. The sound of rushing water echoing through the empty space. I got back to a locked door that led underneath the house, fumbled with the keys again and slid it open to find a small geyser shooting up from one of the pipes attached to the water heater. It had sprayed up all over the support beams and insulation. All the way up to the wood floor in the hallway...
Dirty Painter rushed over to help turn off the water and clean up. When I went to Mr. W's bathroom to get some old towels, his cabinet door fell off in my hand. Because of course that's what else I needed to happen in that moment.
I had to go to my parents' house to shower this morning. And I flushed my toilet last night by pouring bottled water into it.
I can't decide whether someone put a hex on me or if I'm manifesting more stress in my life because I'm putting out so much frenetic, anxious energy right now. All I know is that wrapping up wedding details, working with a cut staff at my job, and trying to handle the woes of homeownership (or in this case, rentership) is pushing me dangerously close to the edge of insanity. Thankfully, I'll probably fit into that tight wedding dress no problem...