With all the hoopla that’s been happening lately I seem to have acquired a short fuse. This has been compounded by the fact the Husby loves being snarky.
Yesterday, at my wits end with everything, I had to deal with an extremely pushy door to door sells man. He tried to talk his way into my house, something about a home security system and our thermostat. I wasn’t born yesterday, and I wasn’t about to let some strange gentleman in my home.
Anyway it took me forever to run him off, and Husby was giving me a hard time about it. As ya’ll can imagine, after all that’s gone on this week, givin’ me a hard time about anything isn’t a good idea. So I sent Eraser, my best friend since forever, a text message that said “I need a therapist or a friend or both.”
Her immediate response was, “what’s wrong?” As I was trying to figure out a proper response that wasn’t a novel she called me. Thank heaven for this woman. I filled her in on everything that had happened since last Saturday when I saw her last. And in the way of best friends, she listened. Eraser didn’t tell me how I should have been feeling or what I should be doing, she just let me talk. And she kept saying over and over again that she was sorry. I told her it wasn’t her fault and she just said I’m still sorry.
Thinking about it now, she was saying it because she wanted to help me fix it, but didn’t know how. And that more than anything in the world helped me. Because she’s the first person, this includes Husby, who has wanted to help me fix it. I’m a problem solver. I can’t let something go until I know the answer or until it’s fixed. I’ll never have the answers for what’s happened this week. I’ll never be able to fix it either. And that more than anything will take me time to get past.