Shit I Used To Drink Over

Hello, Sober Blog Citizens!

I have ended my long streak of blogging slackery to bring you THIS IMPORTANT INFORMATION:

Shit’s happening and I’m not drinking over it. Or at it. Or on it or next to it or quite possibly inside it.

So here I am in the middle one not one, not two, but THREE- three everfucking real estate transactions. Why you ask? Is it because I want to see how many veins I can pop out on my forehead? No. I am selling a house. I am buying a house. I am refinancing a house.

I have three simultaneous escrow accounts at three different title companies. I have signed millions of documents, sent gabillions of texts. I am up to my pits in repairs, inspections, appraisals and ADDENDUMS. OMG THE ADDENDUMS MUST STOP.

Four years ago we sold a home and I found myself shotgunning beers and chain smoking after work to try and chill the hell out. It was the catalyst, I think, to jumpstart my alcoholic career (I say career because I did it like I was getting paid, if ya know what I mean).

But not now. OH HELL NO. I’m taking it SUPER EASY in my bedroom with some kava and handful of ibuprofin. I’m thinking STRONGLY about making some tea. I might get out there and get a FINE grilled cheese sandwich started. There will DEFINITELY be some brownie action. THE WORLD IS MY OYSTER. That also sounds good, I may have a can somewhere…

None of it is that much of a big fucking deal. It’s not. IT JUST ISN’T. We all have stress from job and kids and moving and divorce and death and debt. Just when you think you’ve had all the stress you could possibly absorb you look up and see MORE OF THAT SHIT IS COMING AT YOU. I somehow get to this point where I tell myself, okay, that’s over, we can coast now! Eeeeasy livin’. It’s all CAKE FROM HERE. (Mmmm…cake) But it doesn’t work like that, does it? You get one ANNOYING ASSHOLE OF A THING dealt with and another comes out of the chute.

The okay thing about that (besides the fact that there is actual cake) is that there’s nothing coming at us that we can’t manage. BELIEVE THAT. And not just because I told you (actually, yes, mostly that.) But believe it anyway. And believe in YOU. And also believe in ME believing in YOU. That’s a lot of believing going on, my friends.

But you can do it!  EVERY DAMN ONE OF YOU.

So queue up your 1980’s Journey and get out there. I have a date with some American cheese and a spatula.