up to capacity (or, the world's biggest pity-party)

Let's just start this off by saying, I don't need/want your sympathy. Commiseration? Sure. Good conversation? Bring it on! Sympathy? You can give that to someone else; find a blind/deaf orphan. There are people in the world who are starving, literally, to death. My problems? Way smaller. Nonetheless, my problems are my own and I'm allowed to talk about them.

There's this saying, right? About how, no matter how hard life gets, God isn't giving you more than you can handle. I'm calling bullshit. Those people must have bigger, better faith than I have in their own capacity.

I'm not knocking God, don't get me wrong. I'm talking about inner strength here, people, and my apparent lack of it.

The back story:

We set out on this adventure called moving-across-the-country-with-two-kids-and-no-money-and-one-job-for-two-people about four months ago. It may or may not have been the best idea, but with my PhD getting done in Arkansas and science jobs being in short supply, we didn't have a whole lot of options. So, we packed our things into a Budget truck and took off for the Triangle area in North Carolina. No looking back. And it's WONDERFUL here. Terrifyingly big, maybe...and often frustrating because of this terrible economy. But it's great. And I think we both still think we've made a good choice. There are trees, and good schools for when the kids get older, and lots of art and music and good people. Some of our best friends are here, and Big A's Dad and Step-mom. So, we've made the right decision, we think. But Big A CANNOT FIND A JOB. No matter what. He's put in hundreds of applications. Literally. No, he's not Ivy League educated, but he's smart and funny and personable and he works his ass off. So, I blame George Bush...see my previous rant on that.

So, we've got $$$ problems. Who doesn't? Cry me a river.

Well, it stems from growing up watching my Mother try and keep a bit of food in our cupboard, probably, but I feel like grown-ups, which we pride ourselves on being, ought to have some savings, and a 401k, and the dough to, you know, EAT. And we do, but we aren't taking care of business and building our credit like we were and it's frustrating.

NOW...I've been living in a state of limbo these days, too. Not knowing when my ACTUAL PhD will be granted (In case I need to look for another job). Not knowing when my ACTUAL job might get ripped out from under me like one of those cartoons from the 80's when no one cared if kids grew up thinking that it was cool to drop big-ass rocks on small animals. Not knowing whether or not I'm going to be funded...it's all just limbo, and I don't DO limbo. I'm a concrete sort of gal. But, you know...que sera and all that.

So, I've been doing a little jig of Pollyanna, trying so hard to be positive. I listen to happy music and concentrate on how great my kids are and how much Andy and I have grown closer to one another because of this move. I focus on how we have food and good friends and we've got places to go and people to see and so what if we don't live quite like we used to and have to budget every penny. I stay POSITIVE. And I am telling you right now, IT IS REALLY HARD!!!

But I've been doing it. I've put away the emo kid and the cigarette smoking hardass liquor swigging chick and I've been DOING IT.

And I'm about to break right into about a million pieces.

Because right before we got all pregnant and then moved across the country, we went through possibly the most difficult time of our pretty short relationship. My grandma died. My life's blood, the glue that held my very family together. She DIED. She seemed immortal to me, and she DIED. And so what? People's grandmas die. But she was my Mother for a long time. And she knew how to fix anything. And she was eaten alive by cancer and then suffocated in the plasma that leaked from her body into her lungs. No, it was not pretty. It was inhumane. There are laws about euthanizing racehorses in this country, but we let our octogenarians wither away and suffer like some sort of worm on the concrete after a summer shower. It's sick. But more on that another day.

And now, Andy's grandma is dying. Like right now. This minute. In hours or days, but not weeks, we will be driving to Kentucky to say our goodbyes. And I've got to find a way to explain this to Aidan and find a way to cope myself that doesn't involve thousands of dollars of diagnostics to diagnose a panic disorder...and I have to find a way to be there for my dearest Big A. Because he is my ROCK. People. He is the strongest man I've ever met EVER and his sweet, kind, perfect Grandma is going to die. And don't misunderstand me, Ruth is one of the MOST AMAZING women I've ever met. Raising 6 kids alone in the Kentucky wilderness with no car. Growing her own food. Managing an estate. Managing a LIFE. She and I share a birthdate and should I be able to count my contributions of goodness to the world the way she can? I will have lived a successful life.

And Big A is ill. REALLY ill. With what we are 90% certain is H1N1 influenza and he can't get out of bed and I constantly fret about him becoming a statistic and he needs me and the kids need me and I'm needing to be putting 65 or 70 hours a week into lab right now and I need to get the house clean and call creditors and explain things and brew the coffee and make the soup and give the medicine and keep the kids healthy and remember the doctors appointments and think about how I should have just insisted Andy be on my insurance because he's not on my insurance because it's so expensive and I wonder if Obama is going to fix this and the birthdays and think about Christmas presents and all the while pretend that everything is okay because Aidan is old enough to know that things aren't okay and my milk won't let down because I can't relax and I can't sleep because I'm afraid Big A is going to stop breathing and it just goes on and on and on.

And so I need to breathe.

But before I do that, I need to tell you that I don't really think that God is all that invested in this. I think he loves his children...I do...and I consider myself a child of God because I love Him right back and I don't think this is his fault. And I'm not the only one in the world with problems, or even with THESE problems. But it IS hard. And if He weren't dealing with all that famine and war and pestilence and stuff, I might be inclined to ask for a little help. But I won't. Because I know He's busy. But that whole not giving you too much thing? Bullshit.

Grandma Ruth would know what to do.