Geezy louisey yesterday was a cracker in the stress stakes. I sold my house, the youngest came down with a vomiting bug and I got the results of my diabetes test. I also waited – and waited – for a work contract to arrive in my in-box … more about that later …
While Thursday was spent treating my body like a temple: no caffeine, no alcohol, no sleep medication, an hour at the gym doing horrible things with med balls … Friday was a jittery mess that led me to do the total opposite.
I was supposed to take my mind off the final sale negotiations by doing a brutal thing called tabata at the gym (with the most awesome instructor in the world, Lianne – I think I have a girl crush, she’s Dutch and gorgeous and so, so nice). But the youngest staggered out of bed crying and complaining about being sick so I spent the morning pacing around the house mainlining sugar-free V and holding a bucket under her chin while she puked instead.
At 1.30pm, the doctor informed me that I didn’t have diabetes. Then he did another finger-prick test, which showed another glucose high result. He’s all weirded out, so now I have to go and have a fasting sugar test thingy.
I remember that revolting sugar test thingy from when I was pregnant with my enormous babies and got checked for gestational diabetes. Can’t wait to do it again … Retch …
Actually, I’m a bit weirded out by the glucose thing too. What is it with me and sugar? There HAS to be some connection between it and my disaccharide problems a few years back. Any theories?
At 3pm I dashed to the real estate agent’s office to sign the sale contract on the house.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
The “sold” sticker is slashed across the auction sign now. And another chapter in my life has closed.
How do I feel about it? A bizarre mix of anxious and relieved at the same time.
At one point during the stressed process, Husband wondered if we should withdraw the house from the market and wait until spring to sell. He suggested I’d be fine to stay here for a few months longer. A bit rich considering he couldn’t even stomach two nights to mind the pets because it was too “emotionally difficult”. When I noted the irony, he was all like “well, it’s not my home anymore.”
You know what, buster, it’s not mine either. That little fairytale was destroyed in February.
I want a new home, a place that’s all mine. Something I can create new happy memories inside.
I’m looking at a little semi today. As is my crazy way, I’m already beside myself about how perfect it is, before I’ve even set foot inside.
Last night, my sister and her bloke arrived to help me celebrate my house sale with bubbles, Veuve no less. Bless them.
It didn’t quite feel like a celebration, more like a wake. Except it’s a wake that hopefully leads to a reincarnation.
So my feelings were understandably mixed. And I’ll admit I got a little glassy eyed when my solicitor sent a message at 7.40pm, long after his working day ended, to check whether I was bidding on a new house today. (Woe is me, I thought, it’s a bit sad that my solicitor cares more than my husband, who has yet to touch base about our place being sold.)
Let’s hope the future looks so bright I gotta wear shades*.
Song of the day: Imagine Dragons “It’s time”
BONUS TRACK: Timbuk 3 “The future’s so bright”