The War Of Emotions (aka It's An Ativan Kind Of Day)

I warn you in advance: I'll likely be all over the map with this post. I just need to write it out of my head, because I was popping Ativan before I even left the HOUSE this morning.

I was in complete denial and had this happy little picture of Chebbar finishing his practicum and being asked to start work next Monday. Needless to say, that didn't happen. And when I realized it wasn't gonna happen that way, my brain kicked into overdrive, like it needed to make up for the "lost time" worrying. I'm fighting my old stress-monger ways tooth and nail, but I feel that resistance slipping a little more everyday.

We're BOTH going to be unemployed. AT THE SAME DAMNED TIME! >_<

We were talking last night, and I heard a lot of hard (for me) things. Things like he's not sure when he'll go back to apply where he did his practicum. Or like he's going to take the next two weeks off to study for his gas ticket exam (that he has no clue when he'll book) (even though he went on to say that if he does get on with Practicum Place, he'd really prefer to do the ($1,800) course at BCIT (which we think is six months long? but it's only two nights a week) before taking the exam). That if he can't get on with Practicum Place - where they're provided with everything from PDAs to tools to vehicles - he'll probably just look for "whatever" to help pay the bills until he CAN get on there because he doesn't want to self-contract (even though he knew that was a very likely possibility going in - to be fair, I understand his reasoning: he'd like to get some experience under his belt before going out there under his own name putting his barely-formed reputation on the line). Oh, and don't forget: we need to be open to going where the money is - meaning sell the condo, pick up, and move AWAY-away. Like, to another province away.

Holy fuckballs. I think I'm gonna puke.

I need plans. I need dates and times and steps that will be taken. He needs to let things develop a little more... naturally. This means I push harder the more I stress, and the harder I push, the more he shuts down. It leaves me feeling like I'm the only that cares/worries/stresses the fuck out about how we're going to make a mortgage payment (and feeling like ALL that stress is on ONLY your shoulders? sucks fucking balls, dudes).

The dippy-hippie part of me wants so desperately to give in to the notion that the universe will provide us with what we need; that it will all work out the way it's meant to in its own good time. But the fucking terrified Chicken Little part of my brain is running around screaming "THE SKY IS FALLING! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!? WE'RE GONNA GO BROKE, RUN UP A METRIC FUCKTON OF DEBT, AND END UP LIVING UNDER A BRIDGE IN A CARDBOARD BOX! PANIC, DAMMIT!"

And the closer I get to my last day (Thursday, for those playing along at home), the more angry, butthurt, and FUKITOL I'm getting because, well, yeah.

Logically I know that stressing about shit before it happens is useless and pointless, and that borrowing trouble is an exercise in futility because 90% of the stuff I worry myself sick over never happens. Realistically? It's an old, familiar, comforting (albeit unhealthy and fucked up) habit.

Oh, and have I mentioned that I'm all butthurt about my mom? I haven't heard from her since they got back from their trip mid-month: she never replied to the questions I asked, never bothered to find out how Chebbar's practicum went, hasn't bothered to see how I'm hanging in. (And before you even say it, I know the phone works both ways: I'm working through some jealousy/inadequacy/fear/abandonment shit that's cropped up since her renewed relationship with Bev.)

His prospects for landing a new job are good, but. My virtual assistant business sounds good on paper, but is at a standstill until we have money coming in (because there's no way in hell I'm putting out the $350 it will cost to incorporate before one of us has a steady paycheque coming in). EI will help, but it will be awhile before that kicks in (and won't completely cover our bills). We have a tiny bit of money in the bank. We have the credit cards. We have the line of credit. We may run up some debt (PUKE) until we get back on our feet, but we'll be okay.

That doesn't mean I won't worry myself into a) an ulcer, 2) another MONTHS-long bout of insomnia, and/or iii) another 20lbs in stress weight.

Can I just go back to bed and wake up in January? Please? (Because I'm so disgustingly distraught and stressed about Christmas it's ridiculous, too.)