Inside Eddie’s Daydream #27

Good Lord, you cannot make this kind of stuff up. It has been Monday morning since I last talked to my  real estate agent and read him his ass. The conversation didn’t get anywhere at all, because this guy emailed me this morning with an interesting spin on the situation. He personally emailed us confirming that he didn’t do shit for the past two months, and has decided to hand our file(s) over to his agent that’s shown us property in the past two months. He had the unmitigated gall to label the email “Passing of the torch”. This guy is a complete douchebag of an agent. I want to report his ass to the board of Realtors, but my wife wants me to leave the pettiness behind. He only sent his so-called assistant agent a file that we received a counter offer on (“the kings palace”) and left out the other 3 offers we put in. No updates or follow up’s. This guy was fucking me over the whole time. I have another agent that I am flirting with who does everything we ask her to. I just want to leave the situation with the past real estate agent in the past and start over with a new clean slate, but I feel bad because the assistant never dogged me out and we actually loved the guy. This shit has me so jaded I don’t know what to do. Such an awkward ass quagmire to be in. Smh. 

Life has enough Junk, Get rid of it

More on the never-ending MIL saga. With almost two months approaching, I figured that now would be a good time to tackle the big issue that my MIL has.  Her ridiculous storage account. This is an account that this woman has been paying for since me and my wife met. First of all, it is none of my business what this woman wants to do with her money – when she isn’t in my house- but that is not the case. As you become older, which we all will come to grips with, we will eventually retire or become disabled. When this situation happens, you become dependent on a fixed income. With this fixed income, comes a mind-bending reality. If you haven’t saved in your youth, by opening a Roth I.R.A. account, by time you become a senior-citizen, you are on a budget. With this mindset, it becomes  hard to let go of all the things you have accumulated over time. Husbands/wives become widowed, technology of all the “modern” furniture/electronics become obsolete, and you look like a hoarder. These could be things that make you nostalgic such as: Children toys, who are now adults, old music crates, plates, glassware, blenders, vacuum, chairs, TV’s, computers, tax returns, recreational trophies for children, school awards, electric blankets, pillows, clothes you can’t fit in, and  the list goes on.

As the time passes by, you move around and travel. Some people migrate to different cities. Job promotions and career changes happen. Best friends pass away from malignant illnesses. Vices catch up with your health and you start to experience mortality knocking at your door. I can only imagine that the process of aging, is a hard pill to swallow. For some, this may not be the case. I digress, however, I mentioned all of the things  above because my MIL is not in reality. She has a boatload of junk inside of a storage, from staying at one place and moving to another. Life has been a roller coaster for her. {Make no mistake, I have no empathy for anyone who I feel can make a difference for themselves.} She has been paying for this storage for too long.  Being that I have Saturdays off, I volunteered to help her clean out her storage. This is kind of half-hearted, because the real reason I am helping is to speed up the process. Despite a 15 minute wait of  the MIL not being at her storage, I remain calm and eager to see the storage.

 

I opened the storage and there was a mountain of complete junk to be sorted out and thrown away. I am not against storages, however, if you have a storage, you need to be using the stuff that is in there within 6 months to a year. If you run a business and you need a storage to keep your equipment there, no problem. If you have a temporary situation where you have to move out of state, and work on a job project for 6 months, no problem. The MIL has shit from the 1970’s that need to be pulled apart and “examined and shredded”. I was aghast at all of the stuff I saw from paid tv programs. She had an outdated exercise bike that she was adamant she wanted to sell. I arrived there around 12:41 p.m., we didn’t leave until 7:15 p.m.  It was so much stuff that I had to take out to hand to MIL, letting her dissect the box  as I begged her to “donate”, only to realize that it was only 1/4 of the work. I came home stewing over it, brooding to my wife about how ridiculous the storage situation is. To make matters worse, she bought an additional storage for a promotional deal that the storage company was throwing. I was perplexed to find this out, asking the mom directly, “What do you need an extra storage for?”, and she answered that she simply needed a spot that she could place her everyday things. I understood where she came from and left it alone, but still let my wife know about it.

 

So, a couple of days passed by, and I told my wife that she must bluntly tell her mom to get rid of that junk that she has in her storage. My wife was too delicate and submissive to tell her mom this, but I am not. The straw that broke the camel’s back, was when my wife presented to me a receipt for 291.00 U.S. Dollars, for a program that will teach my daughter how to read. I was one, under the assumption that this bill was for me, which my wife quickly dispelled by saying the MIL was paying for it. Second of all, I take my daughter to the library every three weeks, and read to her several times throughout the week. So, how is this “reading program” going to help my daughter, when she is barely 4 years old. She is already at the head of her class in every subject, with the occasional behavior flare up. Thirdly, how in the hell can you argue me down about throwing away a blender with dead spider eggs in the box,  when you just whipped out 300 bucks for a program, that has nothing to do with you.

 

I appreciated the gesture. It shows the altruism of a doting grandmother, however, this is money that needs to be placed towards your living situation. Which leads me to believe, A. she is not serious about moving out, B. she is not serious about getting her storage cleaned out, and C. she just is oblivious to the whole situation and thinks she can passive-aggressively stay by “nice-ing” her way through her stay. So, at that point I become infuriated and address the issue.

 

 

I start off by asking MIL did she call the donation truck, she said yes. Then I bluntly tell her, that it is in her best interest to get rid of all of the junk inside her storage. I for one, do not know what is sacred and what is not, so I cannot force you to throw out anything that you do not wish to throw away, but 70 percent of that stuff has to go. I offered to pay for a truck and dumping fees. I explained that it would befit her to get rid of all of that stuff, rather than harbor the junk like a “hoarder”. It will be a burden financially that will hurt her in the long run. She was thrown off completely by my assertiveness. I assume because she usually saw an amiable side when she used to visit us. Now, I had shown my other side. I told her that I would go help her separate the pile for donations one more time, but after that , I am getting a truck, loading it up by myself and getting rid of the excess junk. I walked back into my room, and slept peacefully.

 

After further reflection, I thought about how she may have not wanted to get rid  of the storage. I called myself aggressively helping her, but she may have seen it as being too intrusive. I couldn’t care less if she was offended, because what I said, I meant, and felt it was true. The gift that I have as a human is to reflect and think about how the other person may feel. She may feel, “How in the hell can you tell me what to do with my shit THAT I PAY FOR?!, The unmitigated gall of this muthafu#^@!” . “I can do whatever I please, I deserve my personal business.” So that may be true, but you have to think about my privacy as well. I lost my privacy, the moment MIL moved in.  If I am an overeating, coke-snorting, philandering, alcoholic, you will see all of that. All of a persons business becomes public, once you move in. So, privacy is a luxury we both lost. What I tell my wife is that she doesn’t have to clean out her storage, if she doesn’t want to. However, she will have a deadline of getting out of the house. In other words, if she wishes to put storage over shelter, so be it. It is not my business what happens to her after the deadline. My wife understood where I came from, and relayed the message in the most watered down way a daughter could.

 

Here is my gripe, before MIL moved in, she was humble and willing to do anything, I asked of her to do. She was cognizant that I am the man of the house, and she must respect the rules I lay down. She was open to getting help. Since she has been here, she hasn’t used the assets I have provided for her, free of charge: rental website subscription, free rent, free labor, time that I could’ve spent elsewhere on my day off. She has not told me about any lists that she could’ve put her name on. I am offended, that she is offended. I would be ecstatic, if I were in the same predicament and I had a SIL that would look out for me like that. I guess we just have different mindsets.

Another day in Paradise!

 

I have had two anxiety attacks within the past month. To be honest, it is getting out of hand.  Between the long hours of work, MIL situation, and high stress, my mental health is taking its toll on me.

The first anxiety attack happened as I watched Kobe Bryant’s last game. It wasn’t because I was sad he was leaving the game of basketball, more so due to the fact that I felt like I was in sheer terror. Sometimes, I can be in the middle of a conversation, and I get a paralyzing fear of everything. Nothing in particular sets it off. I have been to the emergency room twice within a year. Only to leave with papers that tell me I am completely fine.

The first paralyzing attack happened while I was watching the Laker game. Noticing a change in my body language, my wife asked me if I was okay. That prompted me to break down in tears, having a meltdown for no apparent reason. I know that I have an anxiety issue. My real issue is how I will deal with it. The second anxiety attack that was horrid, happened while taking my wife through a drive-thru. The fear of impending doom, left me in a state of apoplectic shock. I was totally disoriented. There felt like these invisible walls closing in on my chest, heart palpitations, that made me want to jump out of my car and run away screaming. I just could not take it. As I practiced my breathing exercises, I mustered enough courage to push my way through the trivial task. I couldn’t figure out what happened. So I ended up vomiting when I got home, only to go to E.R., with advice from a hotline nurse from the hospital.

I walked in fine, jovial and all with no malingering.  They took me in immediately after explaining my symptoms. This was about 11:30 pm and they were telling me that there was a six hour wait. I willfully agreed and sat down after getting my vitals checked. I must have waited 3 and 1/2 hours before getting checked out. Falling in out of sleep, only to be bothered by the nearest push-door to be opened by nurses and security guards. My mind focused on my breathing, while contemplating the possible outcome of some dire result that would confirm my worst fears. Toddlers and young children bursted through that push-door, as concerned parents coddled their crying seed. I witnessed a young African-American woman, similar to my age, festering resentment for having to wait “six-hours” to be seen. Speaking on the phone with her mother, she complained “They want me to wait six fucking hours! Girl, its already 1 o’clock. I gotta put my daughter to sleep”. Bleary-eyed and confused, I awoke to the cacophony of noises. Averting my gaze, as if I was not to appear too nosey, I listened in.  Her 4 year old daughter, wearing a cast on her fragile arm, became irritable due to the mixture of  fatigue  and  frustration of a mysterious pain in her arm.  The child was incessantly whining in the background, as the mother tried to soothe her daughter and hold a conversation. Between the loud speaker on her earpiece, and the hollow space of the four walls that surrounded us, I made out a voice who I assumed to be her mother. “Just grab your shit and go back home, come back at six in the morning. They will hold your spot and you could pick up where you left off!! You aint gots ta wait!”the voice on the phone said. Emboldened by the encouraging words, the mother laid her daughter in the cramped hospital seat, as she approached a nearby nurse. She explained the plan and the nurse unwaveringly said, “Once you leave, you have to start from scratch, I am so sorry, but that is not how it works.” To her chagrin, she became disgruntled and slouched with a defeated body language. Only to grab her frustrated toddler and return the next morning. 5 minutes later another woman interrupted my sleep. An overweight dark-skinned African-American woman who was in her late thirties sat across from me.

 

She spoke loud on her telephone, cursing and grunting. Upset that she was not receiving the expedient service she wanted. She held her stomach as she winced in pain. She blared out, “How long have ya’ll been already waiting?!” I told her a couple of hours, and she became irate at me, as if it were my fault. The cacophonies and door-slamming continued, only to be awoken by a nurse who would escort me into an emergency dorm room. The doctor checked all of my vitals, and explained to me that what I was experiencing was more psychiatric than anything else. My numbers were well and everything was on point. This was what I knew would be most likely the case. Relieved and disappointed, I grabbed my patient belongings and headed back home.

 

Anxiety disorder is an issue that I have been dealing with for quite some time. I believe that anxiety is somewhat of a natural human characteristic. The original Sapiens, had anxiety when hunting in pre-historic Sabertooth Tiger territory. Sapiens were both predator and prey, in a world that was far different from ours. Anxiety is a natural feeling to have, it can actually help in certain instances. My problem is that I cannot control my anxiety. It gets out of hand. I try to mask the symptoms as they occur, but usually my body language says everything. I don’t know what to do. Due to the fear mongering of a lot of homeopathic activists, who also have blogs, I become very leery on taking drugs, only to find out that I am solely dependent on Zoloft of Prozac for the rest of my life. I have read stories of impotence, brain zaps, nervous tics, and lack of sleep as side effects of the drug. I do not want to go down that path. There are other ways to allay anxiety, however, it would be hard to accomplish those things while working 12-14 hours a day.

 

Thanks for reading my blog, drop a comment below and let me know what you guys think.

This is going to be bad

Well, Mother-in-law is moving into our already cramped apartment. Guess who isn’t happy about it? 🙋. If you guessed me, than you are right. I am the most private person you could meet. So long, to the days when I could walk around in boxers and nothing else. Hello, to the days of dressing up in the restroom after my shower.

Look, I am an asshole. I cannot help it. Of course I am selfish. Let me give you the back story of why I am so pissed.

The MIL has had a rough spell of bad luck. Within the past 7 years, she has stayed at a vacant property rent free. She pays an exorbitant amount of money for some gargantuan sized storage, filled with Suzy Summer thigh masters, 1994 disposable cameras, and more bullshit. I am trying to be rational, and reasonable, however, my greatest fear is that there will be a 2 vs 1 situation. The talk I had with her mother consisted of me announcing that she must be looking for another place to stay while living with us. She reluctantly agreed and seemed excited at the prospect of moving in. I keep putting pressure on my wife to be the enforcer, because I don’t want it to become a situation where she feels that I am bullying her mom. It would come off better if she were the sheriff. My wife is too timid and fearful of being honest with her mom. I am the complete opposite way with my parents.

The situation feels intense and I already surmise that this circus will end badly. My stress levels have been high, despite eating healthier and exercise. My blood pressure and anxiety attacks are causing me to become more hostile. The situation is only temporary in my mind, but I’m still uncomfortable with this mother in law moving in.

The mother in law has a victim mentality and puts a guilt trip on her daughter. That doesn’t work with me, and I can’t bite my tongue if I tried. The manipulation tactics will cause me to be honest and truthful with her mom.

What do you guys think?

Depression and Anxiety struggles no one understands

Inexplicable mood swings

One of the problems that people with depression deal with is random mood swings. One morning, you may wake up and feel like are going to deal with a challenging day but can deal with it. Other days you will wake up and feel like the apocalypse is beckoning you to come outside. It will be a struggle to deal with the most trivial matters, and no one will understand why you seem “out of it”. It will be days when you are loquacious and clear minded, and other days when you will be completely anti-social and introverted.

Triggers and cues

You are sitting down watching the nightly news, and hear the death announcement of a childhood TV personality you idolized. You recognize that the celebrity is close in age to your parents and you start to immerse your thoughts into mortality and death. The death of your parents starts haunting you, because you are in constant fear of them passing away. The TV news program was a trigger to ignite your anxiety disorder and place you into fear. Adults are extensions of our younger selves. So, the phobias we never get over become stuck inside our mind. It is the reason why that JaRule and Ashanti track that happened to come on your Pandora stream made you think of the high school sweetheart that broke your heart. Or the smell of that clearance bottle of J-Lo perfume at Burlington Coat Factory, takes you back to a bad date you had in 2006. A person with anxiety will become sensitized,  to any fear causing trigger that most people wouldn’t recognize.

Overeating or Lack of appetite

Depression can drag your stomach size way down, or make your waistline explode. Most people don’t think of food as a drug. It is a running punchline for people who are overweight that they are eating their emotions, but it is true. Fat, salt, sugar are three of the most emotional sensations of pleasure to the human mind.  Sugar is akin to cocaine, setting off the same receptors of dopamine in the brain. Food companies know it, so they add sugar and corn syrup to boost sales. A person may not have the money to buy a Lamborghini and a mansion. But he or she will most certainly have enough money to go through a drive-thru to get some fast food. The stresses of life can seem like they disappear when you are eating a pint of ice cream. On the other end of the spectrum, life can be so down and out that you find no enjoyment in anything. Eating is not something you feel that you have to do to live. If you eat something for the day, cool. If not, no problem. You can barely remember the last time you ate something, because life is just…whatever. When food is offered, you respectfully decline and move on with your day.

Suppressed Emotions

You want to reach out and get help. You want to talk to a professional or good friend to purge your emotions. The issue is that EVERYONE has problems. Your problems are no better than his or hers in the bystander’s mind. “Someone out there has it way worst than you and me, my friend!!” one acquaintance may surmise. “Why don’t you just snap out of it?” another friend may say. In their mind, you are a person who can overcome these thoughts with some Tony Robbins affirmations. If you are a man, you are supposed to be this log-chopping, car mechanic, motorcycle riding, stereotypical brute who can tough any issue out like a REAL man. What usually follows is some nostalgic story of the obnoxious friend or acquaintance’s father or grandfather, who were “REAL MEN”. They dealt with REAL issues like the depression and post-war. Not this pansy “new-age” Millenial bullshit. If you are a woman, the acquaintance may take the news like its a competition of “who has it worse?” She probably will commence to talk about her divorced friend who has 3 children and is successful now, and she had it way worse than you. You should be anything but depressed because you have NO REASON TO BE. So there you are, privately offended at the impudence of the friend or relative you decided to share it with. Stuck with the recommendation of a Tony Robbins, or Joel Osteen book, you sit there and wallow in self pity. “No one cares to hear about my problems”, you conclude.

The voice in your head

This voice is the worst son of a gun that you wish never existed. He has been with you ever since the bullies teased you in grade school. He was the asshole that prevented you from talking to girls and making friends. He talks very loud and disrespectful when you stand in front of a mirror, slandering your reason to exist, and pointing at every flaw not edible for American culture. He or she is the reason you will never start a business and be successful, because you are the worst example of a breathing creature. Most people can hear the voice and ignore it. Other folks hear it and use it to make improvements. The fourth group, is the most irritating of all, they imagine there is no such voice within them and they (allegedly) kick its ass every time it comes near. This is a voice you will most likely never get rid of and will have to accept for most of your life, until you can finally get the help you need.