For any of you who knew me before this blog, you know that a constant theme of my life is the flooring in my house. UGH. I’m not going to recount it all…but to put it in a nutshell…
- We hurriedly got new floors installed when we thought Michael was going to do chemo. He couldn’t stay in the house with the carpeting because it wasn’t clean enough of a home for him to be in once chemo started.
- Flooring installed by a contractor “friend” for cost of materials only.
- Flooring turns into disaster, “friend” overbills by thousands, “friend” turns into a jerk
- I file a complaint with BBB
- “Friend” contractor hires jackass bully attorney to torment me
- I’m threatened with lawsuits blah blah blah
So now…tonight I sit in my house that has been partially cleared out. Again. Because new floors are being installed. Again. And I’ll blog more about it again. This isn’t the end of the floor saga, sorry. In a future post, you’ll see the video I made for the future lawsuit I will likely have to file. So, so much to look forward to.
Story of my life. The floors are me. They’ve been shit on, peed on, puked on. Lived on, died on. Walked all over. Scratched, scuffed, warped, fucked up. Pulled apart, thrown away, salvaged, shit on again, and on and on it goes.
I’m the floor.
And on Monday, a new guy, hopefully one that won’t screw me over, is arriving to install new flooring I purchased this weekend. And now, I will have the most expensive fucking vinyl floors in the history of home remodels. I cannot believe how much this whole ordeal has cost me. It breaks my heart. Truly. I didn’t deserve this. So much money just gone.
Still no word on the bloodwork results for auto-immune diseases. I know the answer. My body is going down hard and fast. It’s shocking really. Literally from day to day it’s becoming worse and worse. Sometimes I’m pretty much immobile. Other times, I’m okay for a short time. But my body just hurts. Everything hurts. I’m wearing fingerless gloves all the time to help the pain in my hands. I found I love the ones with no fingers at all. I have a few pairs that have half-fingers and those are handy sometimes, but overall I like the style of just an arm warmer better. My favorites are this pair that a volunteer knitted for me last year. She’s a world-class knitter and I just love these. Plus they connect with my new obsession with birds. 🙂
This week has been a tough relationship week for me. It sucks to survive the loss of your husband. Everyone feels sorry for you. Nobody knows what to say. The brave ones that stick it out want to treat you like a normal human being, and sometimes the fact that you’re not the same person gets lost in that and they forget that you’re stumbling through literally the worst period of your entire life. They forget that sometimes you’re just going to be an asshole because you have no filter and you’re not who you are. They hold you to the same standard they always did and don’t have insight into the fact that there’s a good REASON that I’m taking a leave of absence from work and becoming somewhat of a recluse – because I can’t handle adulting or life right now.
There are the few, the warriors, the ones that have stuck it out and never missed a beat. The ones that are real and want to hear about it. The ones who are always there when I need them. They know who they are. But make no mistake. When the dust settles, when the tears have fallen, when you’ve survived the latest crushing wave, no matter how many people care, you are alone.
The medical challenges I’m facing are making me painfully aware of how alone I am. I keep telling myself if Michael were here, he’d be taking such good care of me right now. But the irony is, if he were here I probably wouldn’t be sick. I’m sure this whole thing was triggered by the stress of my life. I’ve done a lot of research, and one of the worst enemies of auto-immune diseases is stress. And I am VERY stressed about my health and what lies ahead. So now, I’m stressed about stressing. Another cruel and vicious circle. Stress. Stress about the stress. Stress about stressing about it. And symptoms spread fast. And that stresses you out. And on and on and on.
So for now, we wait for medical results, we clear everything off the floors again, we (the dogs and I) have a shit week hiding out in small areas of the house again while floors are being pulled out again and reinstalled again, and maybe – just maybe – at the end of the week, maybe. I’ll have new floors. Maybe. Floors that don’t look like shit. Maybe. Finally. Maybe. Maybe I can have normal floors like normal people do. Maybe I can walk through my house and not be reminded of the asshole contractor who seems determined to ruin my already shit life.
I can accept not having a diagnosis yet. I can accept that there is no relief from this pain for now. I can accept that I’ve spent a fortune and been screwed over. I am trying to accept that Michael is never, ever coming home. I can accept that relationships suffer when you lose your spouse. I accept that nothing will ever be the same again. But dammit. I won’t accept the floors! lol
Followers, meet the new floor that will be beneath my feet very soon: Shadow Hickory. (it’s a sample that is sitting on the current floor). It’s lighter than what I had, and hopefully will show a lot less dirt and dust. And hopefully then I can stfu about my floors for a while.
Thanks for reading. I’m working on my next blog, and I’m curious. What do you think makes someone an “expert” in something? Experience? Book smarts? What qualifies someone to be an expert – or to be able to help others with what they’ve learned? Comment, let me hear from you. ❤