The work piece got done. I have more, there’s a glitch and it’s being fixed (above my paygrade).
The kitchen has a temporary counter, a piece of plywood, covering the dishwasher and a drawer unit while DH figures out the necessary changes. The new dishwasher wouldn’t go in the space where the dish drawer had been: it’s too high and wide. So… the nuking began.
The writing piece has been completely reviewed by my co-editor: comments made and corrections applied. After > 10 years working on the piece, I am both relieved to have it done and terrified because it’s done.
Other things pending: waiting for the reviewer at a site to tell us who he wants the book file to go for the last book to get it reviewed.
I made some $ from the new online job. Hurrah!
Life is in flux, and stressy accordingly: new online job changes, writing project changes, and kitchen demolition.
My plan is that after the book project goes to the publisher mid-month, I will seriously start working on the cleaning plan and the house. I will have the other, biggest, long-term project complete, so it’s about time, right?
(Excuse me while I freak out!)
For a long time I didn’t understand why I was so afraid of finishing things? I talked to my therapist about it. She said, “If you finished something, it was subject to attack by the Abuser, right? It was much safer for you to not finish things, then she’d attack you for being lazy and/or not finishing things, but you controlled that and it wasn’t a surprise.”
Which made total sense.
The panic/terror of finishing things applies to the house cleaning. Also it’s part of the PTSD, not wanting to be too visible, because you see yourself as a target.
If I think about what I’m doing, really think about it, I will totally panic. I’m not letting myself think about the big picture, just the little one. Just getting the next step done; that’s all.
But I’m running out of road.
(Image from JimmyBuiPhotography.com, via images.google.com)