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Let the stress-fest commence.

Bobby and his dad have been unsuccessful in making the little red car work. Over $1600, and it still doesn’t run. Bobby finally threw up the white flag and had it towed back to the shop this week. Annnnnd, they called yesterday. They can work their magic and make it run (probably) for the mere price of $1000. 1000 MORE dollars!! That’s just labor because Bobby’s already bought all the parts. What the hell.

I’m immediately hit with indecision on whether the car is worth it. I mean, we’re talking a 1991 BMW… it’s 17 freakin’ years old! Granted, it has a shiny red paint job and a new convertible top, and it’s super-fun for drives through the mountains and such. But come on. Can we say “money pit”?

I called Bobby today and it turns out that he’s already given Paul the BMW Wonder Boy the go-ahead. So ok. There goes our $1000 emergency fund. The one little teensy-tiny buffer standing between us and financial disaster. Poof, gone with the wind (or in this case, with Paul).

So Monday, I’m heading out to find a job. Bleh. Yuck. Barf. Ick. I’m trying to just remind myself to be thankful for the time off I’ve had and not be jealous of stay-at-home moms whose “staying at home” status is never questioned (ex: my sister Jennifer & all her cronies). I’ve had four – count them, 1. 2. 3. 4. – months off. It’s been like a fabulous summer vacation, except with lots of emotional turmoil instead of trips to the beach. I’ve had the chance to let go of the frenzied, panicky feeling that I carried every day at S-D. I’ve had the chance to sleep in occasionally, work in my little garden, sit on the front porch, and work on different household projects. I’ve found peace with lots of demons – the one-year anniversary of Mama’s death, the home movies, the joy of pregnancy and the pain of miscarriages, all without being able to share it with my mother. I’m grateful that I had an opportunity to privately grieve the loss of our babies without having to put on the mask at a job everyday.

And now it’s time to get back out there. I confess, I’m afraid. I know that sounds silly. I just feel panicky at the thought of having to deal with multitudes of people every single day… not being able to get away, feeling trapped. That’s how I felt at S-D… like a rat on a wheel with no way out. I so, so wish that I had a marketable skill. Jennifer is artistic, and has started painting these lovely little canvases and selling them on Etsy (they really are good… if you need ideas for Christmas gifts, you should check it out). But I’m not artistic. I don’t have anything to SELL. I don’t know how to do anything that anyone wants to buy. Argh.

No reprimand needed, I know I’m being whiny.

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