We had a crazy weekend, but not the sort that ends in tattoos, STDs and self-recrimination (I’ll work on delivering that next weekend at my cousin’s Atlanta wedding). Saturday started early and bleak. At 3:40am, my brother had a bad seizure which woke up the house, and once we’d changed his sheets and settled him back in, we were wide awake. So was my cat, Chloe, who paraded up and down the hallway screaming once we attempted to go back to bed. Eventually, we just got up with plans to look for furniture and My Dream Apartment. Morale was low. My mother dramatically declared that she needed to “cry for a week” and I pitched a fit at one point about “the oven smells like festering corpse again; WHY IS THIS MY LIFE” (it should be noted my family, on the whole, does not respond well on little sleep).
However, our tide turned considerably when we got into town – not only was I able to get My Dream Apartment (or some reasonably approximation thereof), but MOM FINALLY PURCHASED SOME MOTHERFUCKING FURNITURE. For those of you with delicate sensibilities, I apologize for the swearing, but FUCK, you have NO FUCKING IDEA how long she has been angsting her ASS off about her fucking dining room. Seriously. We have had near-divorces the last few months over whether we were going for “cottage” or “French country”.
I mean, think about it: you’ve lost all your possessions you’ve accumulated over the past 60-some-odd years of life. EVERYTHING. And now you’re given a pretty large budget to repurchase all of it (thank you, insurance!). Do you get the same style? Do you do something different? Do you try to get stuff that reminds you of your old stuff? Do you go crazy with a theme? Do you just go crazy and murder someone (it’s been close…)?
Mom’s lack of furniture shopping has been particularly tense because it’s looking like the rebuilt house will be complete in the next month. While we have enough randomly-acquired stuff to live on, it’s going to look pretty weird in the new house. And Mom hadn’t bought ANYTHING yet… which means, she hadn’t committed to a style.
Thankfully, she’s decided that she’s doing French country and purchased a couch, a coffee table, a side table, and a dining table and chairs, and homicide was averted once more. Trust me, there ain’t no party like a “thank FUCK we have a couch” party.
Incidentally, my apartment is cozy but has excellent storage and hardwood floors (!!!!!!). It’s on the south end of the city near a very nice gym in an area known for its walking trails, and it is a beautiful 20 minutes from my parents. A good distance – they can come over without drama, but it’s not like I’m close enough for them to just “pop over”. My parents thankfully understood that if they try to control my life I WILL CUT THEM, but a little reassurance of that is always appreciated. I move mid-May.
I feel like I can breathe a little at last.