The Breakdown: Not Much of a Mystery
April 30, 2016
I’m losing it.
We’re just two weeks in to this life-overhaul and Joe’s driving me crazy. In his defense, he’s getting things done. He’s on it. On fire, really. And that’s good because I’m not there yet.
I’m not there yet. Where I am - no mystery - is on the verge (?) of a BREAKDOWN.
Despite his good energy, he and I disagree on priorities. All week, I’ve asked him to clean the gunk off the sink drains so I can then properly clean the bathrooms. He’s ignored that un-fun task for the sake of packing up Abby’s teddy bears and books. Clearly, seeing a kid’s room actually look like a kid’s room would turn off potential buyers, but sinks that don’t drain? No big deal. (The sinks are clogged, but my sarcasm flows easily).
We’re trying to get our house show-worthy. I think clean is more important than decluttered. Joe doesn’t seem to prioritize his to-dos the same way. I get his side... declutter now, clean right before the house shows. But, the thing is today, I can't see any side but my own.
Reason has dropped the mic and left the building, while Crazy is hanging around until the lights go out.
On this particular Saturday morning, he was headed out the door to take down our damaged wooden swing set. I stopped him and asked, “Can you fix the dishwasher first? I can’t clean the kitchen-“
“I forgot, okay?” he bit back.
I get Joe. He gets a task in his mind and he focuses only on that thing. It’s the whole women are spaghetti, men are waffles thing. And because he’s like that, he can concentrate on one thing and do it well. I, on the other hand, have to race around the house like a chicken with its head cut off, here and there and everywhere. I’m an unfocused, multi-tasking tornado.
In fact, I’m doing it right now… getting off track. Where was I?
Oh, so it’s Saturday. Joe fixed the dishwasher and then went outside. I tackled the kitchen. Now, we could both be productive.
Halfway through, my mom called to let me know that she had another stint put in and she spent last night in the hospital. She acted like it was no big deal and that I shouldn’t worry. But, if she has to tell me not to worry, that’s of course exactly what I’m going to do.
After the call, I went back to tornadoing around the kitchen. I finished cleaning and turned my attention to the growing pile of mail on the bar.
My heart stopped when I found an overdue order form for some Abby artwork. It had gotten buried in the pile. I broke down crying.
Like, seriously, crying.
Joe came in from outside. “Holy crap. What’s wrong?”
Blubbering, I held up the forms. “I forgot to do this,” I sobbed, “and now it’s too late.”
Joe grabbed the papers, went to his computer, and within a minute told me we could still place an order. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s not too late.”
It was too late to pull back on the tears, however. They wouldn’t stop. Good thing I hadn’t bothered with mascara.
I’m losing it.
"My eyes fail with tears, My heart is troubled."