I'm taking a teeny break. We've been packing nonstop for the past several days. We DO have a house and it's downtown-ish -- 2.5 miles away from the park and ride for the light rail. Yay!!
I thought that we'd be getting rid of bunches of stuff -- it seems like we did, e.g. 3 carloads of books to the 2nd hand bookstore, but we still have sooooo much to pack! Stephen is coming tomorrow night to help. Yay again!!!
I'm gonna stop and watch I Love Lucy for a while.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
In the Middle of Stuff
On Friday the 18th, our house was supposed to be auctioned. It wasn't. We found out when we received a notice several days later, taped to the garage door. Fannie Mae now owns our property. At the bottom of the notice was contact information for a Realtor. I called.
The gentleman on the phone had a kindly voice. Good start. His name is Joseph. Joseph asked me if I was the homeowner. "Not any more," I joked nervously.
He explained that Fannie Mae needed to know if the house was vacant, occupied by renters, or occupied by the original mortgage-holders. We are choice #3. Being a Friday afternoon, Joseph explained that he'd fax the information to Fannie Mae, but we probably wouldn't hear from him again until the middle of the next week. That's now.
"So the sheriff won't be backing up a moving van?" again a nervous joke. That's what I do when I'm scared. Either that or begin sobbing. I thought the nervous joking was a more acceptable choice. Joseph, again with the kindly voice, explained that Fannie Mae wanted to be ... he couldn't come up with the word. Have I mentioned that in addition to kindly, Joseph sounded quite elderly? I think he's the parent in the family real estate firm.
I tried to help him. "Nice? Considerate?"
"That's the idea," said Joseph. Kindly. "Considerate. They don't want to cause you additional pain."
I e-mailed our attorney, Robert. Robert is also kindly, but not at all elderly. And considering we paid him a chunk of change to support us during this transition, I suppose he has to be kindly.
Robert told me to determine our moving costs: security deposits, moving company, cleaning.
Cleaning? Is it possible that Fannie Mae will reimburse us to have the house cleaned? Wow! I'd never considered that. Ever.
Maybe this move won't be as traumatic as I've been imagining.
After my chat with Joseph and my e-mail to Robert, I jumped into research mode. I found a really cool website that had a map of the city with "push pins" indicating available rentals. Position the map in the area you want to rent, click on the push pin, and a box of info appears about that particular rental. After about an hour, I got pretty good at it. I zoomed in enough so that I could see the size of each push-pinned property. That way I could focus on individual houses rather than apartments. I used to have this fantasy that we could live in a sexy downtown loft in a high-rise. One glance around the reality of our lives, reminds me that this fantasy will have to stay in fantasy-land.
In reality-land, we need a house with a yard for the dogs, some area for Paul's "science projects" -- outside, definitely -- he's been known to mix things up that turn extremely toxic (that's a whole other post for another time). At one point I was doing some painting on the back patio; then it got either too hot or too cold and I put away my art supplies. I'd like to have a place where they could live.
Within these parameters, we want to pay the least amount of rent possible. That seems to be about $500 less than our current mortgage.
We want to spend the next year and a half socking away as much as we can so that if we decide to retire after the 2012 school year, we'll have a cushion to support us as we figure out our next adventure.
So now we're in that Limbo space: some boxes packed, but more things that we're still determining whether we should sell them or not. The antique organ, the sofa bed that no one ever sits on or sleeps in, boxes of books that we hauled from Delaware but never unpacked, the Mac equipment for editing videos -- now well over 10 years old, a dinosaur in the world of technology.
Today we're looking at rental properties. I hope we find one that we like and whose landlord approves us, warts and all. I will feel better having an image of where our life will continue on -- at least for the foreseeable future.
The gentleman on the phone had a kindly voice. Good start. His name is Joseph. Joseph asked me if I was the homeowner. "Not any more," I joked nervously.
He explained that Fannie Mae needed to know if the house was vacant, occupied by renters, or occupied by the original mortgage-holders. We are choice #3. Being a Friday afternoon, Joseph explained that he'd fax the information to Fannie Mae, but we probably wouldn't hear from him again until the middle of the next week. That's now.
"So the sheriff won't be backing up a moving van?" again a nervous joke. That's what I do when I'm scared. Either that or begin sobbing. I thought the nervous joking was a more acceptable choice. Joseph, again with the kindly voice, explained that Fannie Mae wanted to be ... he couldn't come up with the word. Have I mentioned that in addition to kindly, Joseph sounded quite elderly? I think he's the parent in the family real estate firm.
I tried to help him. "Nice? Considerate?"
"That's the idea," said Joseph. Kindly. "Considerate. They don't want to cause you additional pain."
I e-mailed our attorney, Robert. Robert is also kindly, but not at all elderly. And considering we paid him a chunk of change to support us during this transition, I suppose he has to be kindly.
Robert told me to determine our moving costs: security deposits, moving company, cleaning.
Cleaning? Is it possible that Fannie Mae will reimburse us to have the house cleaned? Wow! I'd never considered that. Ever.
Maybe this move won't be as traumatic as I've been imagining.
After my chat with Joseph and my e-mail to Robert, I jumped into research mode. I found a really cool website that had a map of the city with "push pins" indicating available rentals. Position the map in the area you want to rent, click on the push pin, and a box of info appears about that particular rental. After about an hour, I got pretty good at it. I zoomed in enough so that I could see the size of each push-pinned property. That way I could focus on individual houses rather than apartments. I used to have this fantasy that we could live in a sexy downtown loft in a high-rise. One glance around the reality of our lives, reminds me that this fantasy will have to stay in fantasy-land.
In reality-land, we need a house with a yard for the dogs, some area for Paul's "science projects" -- outside, definitely -- he's been known to mix things up that turn extremely toxic (that's a whole other post for another time). At one point I was doing some painting on the back patio; then it got either too hot or too cold and I put away my art supplies. I'd like to have a place where they could live.
Within these parameters, we want to pay the least amount of rent possible. That seems to be about $500 less than our current mortgage.
We want to spend the next year and a half socking away as much as we can so that if we decide to retire after the 2012 school year, we'll have a cushion to support us as we figure out our next adventure.
So now we're in that Limbo space: some boxes packed, but more things that we're still determining whether we should sell them or not. The antique organ, the sofa bed that no one ever sits on or sleeps in, boxes of books that we hauled from Delaware but never unpacked, the Mac equipment for editing videos -- now well over 10 years old, a dinosaur in the world of technology.
Today we're looking at rental properties. I hope we find one that we like and whose landlord approves us, warts and all. I will feel better having an image of where our life will continue on -- at least for the foreseeable future.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Dog Training Update
It's been two weeks since my last post about the dogs, and I have a bit of good news. Despite still being in the "kiddie pool" of dog training -- the beginning beginner's classes -- our pups are making progress. And I'm getting competitive.
Charlie (who is my responsibility) has been heeling rather nicely, and sitting at my side the moment I stop moving. This is a huge improvement from the first class, where he jumped all over me, tried to eat his leash, got tangled in his leash (often) and cried over Lily being ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CIRCLE.
Lily (who is my husband's responsibility) is much more challenging. Although she sometimes walks nicely next to my husband, she is always on edge (and still wearing the muzzle). The trainer had him hold a dog treat near his knee; when Lily focused on the treat, she became much better.
We definitely have a long road ahead of us ... there is always an advanced class near us where the owners drop the leashes and walk away. The dogs sit in a row, peaceful, statue-like. It's amazing and I'm sure we'll eventually get there.
In the meantime I have a confession: I'm feeling the teeniest bit smug because Charlie is the teeniest bit more advanced than Lily.
Charlie (who is my responsibility) has been heeling rather nicely, and sitting at my side the moment I stop moving. This is a huge improvement from the first class, where he jumped all over me, tried to eat his leash, got tangled in his leash (often) and cried over Lily being ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CIRCLE.
Lily (who is my husband's responsibility) is much more challenging. Although she sometimes walks nicely next to my husband, she is always on edge (and still wearing the muzzle). The trainer had him hold a dog treat near his knee; when Lily focused on the treat, she became much better.
We definitely have a long road ahead of us ... there is always an advanced class near us where the owners drop the leashes and walk away. The dogs sit in a row, peaceful, statue-like. It's amazing and I'm sure we'll eventually get there.
In the meantime I have a confession: I'm feeling the teeniest bit smug because Charlie is the teeniest bit more advanced than Lily.
Today Was the Day
The notices started showing up the first week in December. Sent by regular mail and certified mail. A week later we received yet another batch. They really want to make sure we knew that the auction would be scheduled for today -- February 18, 2011.
I pictured a fast talking auctioneer standing in front of our house, gavel in hand, surrounded by hungry buyers. I pictured us, cowering behind the garden wall, listening to cigar-chomping investors bidding $5,000, $10,000 … SOLD to the gentleman in the porkpie hat for $15,000!
In reality, everything is done at the court house downtown. Our house is part of a very long list being auctioned today. And since today is the Friday before a 3-day holiday, our attorney thinks there’s a very slim chance that it gets sold -- because everybody with $$$$ to buy houses has probably left for their ski resort house already.
I suppose we won't know anything until the buyer (if there was one) has the closing. Then they get 72 hours (I think) to notify us. Then we have 30 days (I think) to vacate. It's hard to get a good answer on this, hence the "I thinks." But apparently, more of these buyers at auctions are investors, who are more than happy to rent the house back to you -- at least until they're ready to do something with it.
So, we are now officially in Limbo. I feel like I should start packing or something. Or sorting or something. But I'm so. very. tired.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Snowy Perspective
New Hampshire vacation.
Snow storm.
Lovely.
Nice long walks on brilliant crunchy virgin surfaces.
Magical ice crystals draping pines.
Hot toddies and a crackling fire.
Business trip to NYC. Same snow storm.
Grey, ugly slush.
Careening taxi splashes semi-frozen muck.
Best (and only) designer business suit covered with sooty wet blobs.
Back home to Delaware. Same snow storm.
Shovel massive driveway, endless curving sidewalk.
Bonked on head by killer icicle.
Raw, wet dampness invades half-dozen layers of snow gear.
Move to Arizona.
Look at snowstorm pictures. Sigh.
Snow storm.
Lovely.
Nice long walks on brilliant crunchy virgin surfaces.
Magical ice crystals draping pines.
Hot toddies and a crackling fire.
Business trip to NYC. Same snow storm.
Grey, ugly slush.
Careening taxi splashes semi-frozen muck.
Best (and only) designer business suit covered with sooty wet blobs.
Back home to Delaware. Same snow storm.
Shovel massive driveway, endless curving sidewalk.
Bonked on head by killer icicle.
Raw, wet dampness invades half-dozen layers of snow gear.
Move to Arizona.
Look at snowstorm pictures. Sigh.
© 2011 Marilyn Stevens
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Dog Training
We've been taking the dogs to training for the last several weeks. They are in the "beginner" class.
Lily, the 4-year old probably German Shepherd-Whippet Mix has to wear a muzzle to training so she won't try to eat the other dogs in the class. This is quite embarrassing. She is a sweetie with people, but for some reason other dogs make her blood boil.
Charlie, the 9-month old probably German Shorthair Pointer-Jack Russell Mix doesn't need a muzzle. But he thinks of Lily as his mom, so he has separation anxiety and cries when he sees Lily ALL THE WAY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CIRCLE. This, too, is quite embarrassing. Unlike Lily, Charlie doesn't try to eat other dogs, however, he likes to bark at them. Incessantly.
We've never gone to dog school with any of our other dogs. Michelle was a mild-mannered Great Pyrenees who lumbered peacefully through life. As long as my mom gave her a "3-o'clock treat," and she went for a walk every day, she was fine. Paul made her an enormous dog house with a covered front porch. She regally reclined on her front porch, surveying the land and probably wishing for a few sheep to guard.
When Michelle was about 10, Nesta came into our life by way of our son and daughter-in-law, who rescued her from abandonment at the Farmer's Market. A sweet and loving black coon hound, Nesta's major fault was finding and rolling in decomposing squirrels, of which there were a ready supply in and around our property.
Michelle went to Dog Heaven at the ripe old (dog) age of 14, and we were glad to have our dear Nessy to comfort us. But poor Nesta experienced a string of bad luck. First, while Paul was walking her in the park, a pit bull in a yard facing the park jumped over three fences in order to attack her. He bit her in the haunches and fortunately, she had some extra fat on her, so the bite, while serious, wasn't as bad as it could have been. But that's when we found out that the extra fat was the result of hypothyroidism, so she had to go on thyroid medication. That was fine for awhile, until one evening when we were heading over to our son's to babysit. We always took Nesta with us because the kids loved to climb all over her. Walking to the car, Nesta walked right into the side of it. When we got to Michael's, she couldn't find the front steps. Inside the house, we noticed that she had her eyes closed. We looked at them and the whites were purple -- we rushed her to the emergency vet, who told us she had a rare blood disease. Cortisone might help -- in six months she'd either be cured or dead. She never recovered.
Dog-less, I was inconsolable. I cruised the Humane Society until Buddy emerged as the sure winner. A Golden mix, Buddy had been tagged as a potential therapy dog, and he definitely provided needed therapy for our mourning family. Sweet and gentle, his feather-duster tail and deep topaz eyes let us know we were his. He was pretty much the perfect dog. Like his predecessors, there didn't seem much need to take him to obedience school. He was already obedient.
Buddy survived the cross-country move to Arizona even though he spent part of the trip wearing a jade plant in the tiny cocoon of space he had in the overflowing station wagon.
For some reason, we felt it was important to get Buddy a pal after we'd lived in Phoenix for about a year. After a few unsuccessful matchmaking trials, Lily met his approval. Always the perfect gentleman, Buddy tolerated his little "sister's" continual antics, never complaining as she bounced around him, tugging his ears, dancing between his feet. Lily quickly became the alpha dog in the family. Even before she was fully grown, we had to stop taking both dogs to the dog park, because Lily would turn on some dog she'd just been playing with, and her loyal big brother felt it his duty to jump into the fray.
It was right about that time that we should have signed Lily up for obedience classes. But we didn't. Instead, we struggled with her on walks, as she strained against her leash, Buddy calmly loping behind her. She made a ruckus anytime anyone walked past the house, and our only response was a flaccid and unsuccessful "Lily, NO!"
We lost Buddy to an acute brain disorder shortly after he'd had surgery to remove his eye. All three if us, Lily, my husband and I sunk into a deep sadness. I had a new obsession: cruising the online rescue websites for a new puppy. Not a replacement for Buddy; there could never be a replacement. More, I was looking for something positive and joyful to focus on. Charlie became that something. A 16-pound puddle of puppy pudding when we adopted him, Charlie amazingly melted Lily's anti-dog heart. She quickly became Charlie's mom and we all focused on turning Charlie into a fine young adult.
Except that Lily couldn't help in that regard. Strong-willed and domineering, Lily might show Charlie the best place to go potty -- outside, not inside -- and how to sit for a treat, but she also taught him how to bark at anything coming anywhere near the house, the car, or us.
I bought a 5-hour training video that came with special collars and leashes. They ate the leashes. They didn't respond to the collars -- shaped like a mama dog's teeth, they were supposed to remind the dogs to be good. Our dogs didn't even seem to notice them -- the snap/tug made no impression.
We began interviewing dog trainers, settling on a company called "Sit Means Sit." They use electronic collars to "tap" the dogs, reminding them to pay attention. They also use cute little doggie cots, where the dogs are supposed to "place" when they're not otherwise engaged. As I write this the doggie cots sit empty. Lily is happily dozing on a chair in the living room; Charlie on the bed.
Paul and I are what you might call "laid back." So we are having to train ourselves even more than training the dogs. But we have a goal. We've never taken the dogs camping with us. Previously when we've gone camping, there's always been someone living at the house to watch the dogs. Now there isn't and our goal is to have wonderful, well-behaved dogs that can remain calm and off-leash on their little cots at our campsite, totally oblivious of all distractions -- unless there is a bear. Somehow we have to train them that it's okay to bark at bears.
Lily, the 4-year old probably German Shepherd-Whippet Mix has to wear a muzzle to training so she won't try to eat the other dogs in the class. This is quite embarrassing. She is a sweetie with people, but for some reason other dogs make her blood boil.
Charlie, the 9-month old probably German Shorthair Pointer-Jack Russell Mix doesn't need a muzzle. But he thinks of Lily as his mom, so he has separation anxiety and cries when he sees Lily ALL THE WAY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CIRCLE. This, too, is quite embarrassing. Unlike Lily, Charlie doesn't try to eat other dogs, however, he likes to bark at them. Incessantly.
We've never gone to dog school with any of our other dogs. Michelle was a mild-mannered Great Pyrenees who lumbered peacefully through life. As long as my mom gave her a "3-o'clock treat," and she went for a walk every day, she was fine. Paul made her an enormous dog house with a covered front porch. She regally reclined on her front porch, surveying the land and probably wishing for a few sheep to guard.
When Michelle was about 10, Nesta came into our life by way of our son and daughter-in-law, who rescued her from abandonment at the Farmer's Market. A sweet and loving black coon hound, Nesta's major fault was finding and rolling in decomposing squirrels, of which there were a ready supply in and around our property.
Michelle went to Dog Heaven at the ripe old (dog) age of 14, and we were glad to have our dear Nessy to comfort us. But poor Nesta experienced a string of bad luck. First, while Paul was walking her in the park, a pit bull in a yard facing the park jumped over three fences in order to attack her. He bit her in the haunches and fortunately, she had some extra fat on her, so the bite, while serious, wasn't as bad as it could have been. But that's when we found out that the extra fat was the result of hypothyroidism, so she had to go on thyroid medication. That was fine for awhile, until one evening when we were heading over to our son's to babysit. We always took Nesta with us because the kids loved to climb all over her. Walking to the car, Nesta walked right into the side of it. When we got to Michael's, she couldn't find the front steps. Inside the house, we noticed that she had her eyes closed. We looked at them and the whites were purple -- we rushed her to the emergency vet, who told us she had a rare blood disease. Cortisone might help -- in six months she'd either be cured or dead. She never recovered.
Dog-less, I was inconsolable. I cruised the Humane Society until Buddy emerged as the sure winner. A Golden mix, Buddy had been tagged as a potential therapy dog, and he definitely provided needed therapy for our mourning family. Sweet and gentle, his feather-duster tail and deep topaz eyes let us know we were his. He was pretty much the perfect dog. Like his predecessors, there didn't seem much need to take him to obedience school. He was already obedient.
Buddy survived the cross-country move to Arizona even though he spent part of the trip wearing a jade plant in the tiny cocoon of space he had in the overflowing station wagon.
For some reason, we felt it was important to get Buddy a pal after we'd lived in Phoenix for about a year. After a few unsuccessful matchmaking trials, Lily met his approval. Always the perfect gentleman, Buddy tolerated his little "sister's" continual antics, never complaining as she bounced around him, tugging his ears, dancing between his feet. Lily quickly became the alpha dog in the family. Even before she was fully grown, we had to stop taking both dogs to the dog park, because Lily would turn on some dog she'd just been playing with, and her loyal big brother felt it his duty to jump into the fray.
It was right about that time that we should have signed Lily up for obedience classes. But we didn't. Instead, we struggled with her on walks, as she strained against her leash, Buddy calmly loping behind her. She made a ruckus anytime anyone walked past the house, and our only response was a flaccid and unsuccessful "Lily, NO!"
We lost Buddy to an acute brain disorder shortly after he'd had surgery to remove his eye. All three if us, Lily, my husband and I sunk into a deep sadness. I had a new obsession: cruising the online rescue websites for a new puppy. Not a replacement for Buddy; there could never be a replacement. More, I was looking for something positive and joyful to focus on. Charlie became that something. A 16-pound puddle of puppy pudding when we adopted him, Charlie amazingly melted Lily's anti-dog heart. She quickly became Charlie's mom and we all focused on turning Charlie into a fine young adult.
Except that Lily couldn't help in that regard. Strong-willed and domineering, Lily might show Charlie the best place to go potty -- outside, not inside -- and how to sit for a treat, but she also taught him how to bark at anything coming anywhere near the house, the car, or us.
I bought a 5-hour training video that came with special collars and leashes. They ate the leashes. They didn't respond to the collars -- shaped like a mama dog's teeth, they were supposed to remind the dogs to be good. Our dogs didn't even seem to notice them -- the snap/tug made no impression.
We began interviewing dog trainers, settling on a company called "Sit Means Sit." They use electronic collars to "tap" the dogs, reminding them to pay attention. They also use cute little doggie cots, where the dogs are supposed to "place" when they're not otherwise engaged. As I write this the doggie cots sit empty. Lily is happily dozing on a chair in the living room; Charlie on the bed.
Paul and I are what you might call "laid back." So we are having to train ourselves even more than training the dogs. But we have a goal. We've never taken the dogs camping with us. Previously when we've gone camping, there's always been someone living at the house to watch the dogs. Now there isn't and our goal is to have wonderful, well-behaved dogs that can remain calm and off-leash on their little cots at our campsite, totally oblivious of all distractions -- unless there is a bear. Somehow we have to train them that it's okay to bark at bears.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Feeling Like Crap
I'm getting worried about me. Ever since September when my thyroid medicine stopped working, I have not felt like myself. Well, I had a nice blip of good-feeling-ness at Christmas, but that was totally supported by a cortisone shot and a prednisone pack. I always feel like superwoman when I take prednisone. But I guess it's worn off, because I'm back to feeling like crap.
It is hard to teach when you just want to stay in bed with the covers pulled over your head.
We're supposed to be planning our future and I want to curl up in a nice warm cave and hibernate.
I had to bail out of my equine science class because I don't have the energy to stay up until 10:30 at night.
Several times I've had to call Horses Help and tell them I can't make it. That makes me feel even worse. I hate backing out on commitments. Plus, I love working at Horses Help.
I haven't been riding for months. I have my saddle sitting on this little room divider between what is supposed to be the living room and what is supposed to be the dining room -- so I look at it every time I sit at my laptop.
We signed the dogs up for training classes and I've missed two of them because I'm so dead. Paul takes one dog and the other dog looks at me and makes me feel guilty.
Our house is going on the auction block in less than three weeks -- have I done anything to prepare for the fact we may be homeless by the end of the month? No.
There was just a commercial on about depression. I know that's what I have, but I also know that it's related to my thyroid meds, so no anti-depressant or "talk therapy" will help. I'm beginning to not recognize myself.
I feel so sorry for my husband -- he's so good and patient, but the most he sees of me is when I leave for school in the morning or sometimes when I feel up enough to walk the dogs with him. He wants us to apply for teaching jobs in Abu Dhabi -- okay, whatever. Just put me on a plane and I'll do what you say. But just make sure we can take the dogs.
I miss everybody in Delaware, but I don't miss Delaware. I'm glad we're living in the West -- just not Phoenix. It's too big. I've had trouble staying awake on the freeway driving home from school -- more than a few times. This makes me really nervous. One day I realized that my eyes had actually closed when I was on the off-ramp.
I went to church and prayed for myself. I also told the woman in charge of the prayer chain what was going on with me -- I didn't think she was going to send it word-for-word to the entire prayer chain. Oh well, maybe it will help.
I think I'm scared. But I'm posting this because I'm hoping that someday soon I will be able to look at this and say, "Wow, that was creepy; glad it's over!" That's what I want.
It is hard to teach when you just want to stay in bed with the covers pulled over your head.
We're supposed to be planning our future and I want to curl up in a nice warm cave and hibernate.
I had to bail out of my equine science class because I don't have the energy to stay up until 10:30 at night.
Several times I've had to call Horses Help and tell them I can't make it. That makes me feel even worse. I hate backing out on commitments. Plus, I love working at Horses Help.
I haven't been riding for months. I have my saddle sitting on this little room divider between what is supposed to be the living room and what is supposed to be the dining room -- so I look at it every time I sit at my laptop.
We signed the dogs up for training classes and I've missed two of them because I'm so dead. Paul takes one dog and the other dog looks at me and makes me feel guilty.
Our house is going on the auction block in less than three weeks -- have I done anything to prepare for the fact we may be homeless by the end of the month? No.
There was just a commercial on about depression. I know that's what I have, but I also know that it's related to my thyroid meds, so no anti-depressant or "talk therapy" will help. I'm beginning to not recognize myself.
I feel so sorry for my husband -- he's so good and patient, but the most he sees of me is when I leave for school in the morning or sometimes when I feel up enough to walk the dogs with him. He wants us to apply for teaching jobs in Abu Dhabi -- okay, whatever. Just put me on a plane and I'll do what you say. But just make sure we can take the dogs.
I miss everybody in Delaware, but I don't miss Delaware. I'm glad we're living in the West -- just not Phoenix. It's too big. I've had trouble staying awake on the freeway driving home from school -- more than a few times. This makes me really nervous. One day I realized that my eyes had actually closed when I was on the off-ramp.
I went to church and prayed for myself. I also told the woman in charge of the prayer chain what was going on with me -- I didn't think she was going to send it word-for-word to the entire prayer chain. Oh well, maybe it will help.
I think I'm scared. But I'm posting this because I'm hoping that someday soon I will be able to look at this and say, "Wow, that was creepy; glad it's over!" That's what I want.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)