The Perfect Storm of Stress

1. Retiring
2. Moving Country
3. La Petite Fille and University
4. Real Estate Whoas
5. The Fascisting of America
6. Summer Camp

Recently, I’ve struggled to maintain Ye Olde Blogge along with the other activities in my life. Currently, I’m experiencing a perfect storm of stress. There’s not a single aspect of my life that’s stress-free or even stress-lite. My coffee habit probably isn’t helping, and my usual coping mechanisms definitely haven’t been helping. In fact, they’ve probably been making things worse.

In the world of fight-flight-freeze responses to threats and dangers, my preferred reaction is freeze. That is the core of pathological demand avoidance. In order to cope with external demands, you just stop doing anything. The proverbial deer in the ubiquitous headlights, hoping that the light at the end of the interminable tunnel is not an onrushing train, but rather a shimmering beacon of hope.

I can’t believe how bad life has gotten to be. Let me just list it out for you, and you’ll see that (a) none of it is terrible and (b) taken individually or in small amounts, it would be manageable, but taken all together and, siblings, I’m floundering.

Retiring

In July, I’ll retire. I’ll quit working — knock on something resembling wood — hopefully for good. What a relief that will be! For someone like me, with autism, anxiety, and pathological demand avoidance, working has often felt like a nightmare. Honestly, I was made for universal basic income. When I see La Petite Fille, who shares similar challenges, I just want to set up a trust for her so she can live modestly without the pressure to work.

You’d think retirement wouldn’t be a stressor, but it is. I’ve lived paycheck-to-paycheck for most of my life. To me working is the only way to have money, and not working means not having money. No matter the reassurances from our financial advisor and Ma Belle Femme, the prospect of not working leaves me with visions of homelessness dancing in my head. I just can’t wrap my head around it. The closer we get to the LAST PAYCHECK, the more stressed I am.

Moving Country

We’ll be moving back to North America. Part of me is thrilled at the idea of being able to put down roots and nest. You know, do something crazy like get a pet. Maybe have a vegetable garden.

But let’s be real: moving to another country is never easy, especially when you’re limited to two maxed-out bags per family member—that’s six bags for those of you keeping score at home. The number of airlines that “allow” two suitcases with your ticket has dwindled, weight allowances are tighter, and excess luggage fees have skyrocketed. This means we’ll have to make some tough choices about what to bring along.

Siblings, my inner self is a hoarder kept in check by the terror of moving. Giving things up is like losing limbs, pets, and children for me.

Worse, we have to sell or get rid of the stuff we’re not taking. We bought furniture, so we’re selling it. We’ll have to live some weeks without our dining room table, big-screen TV, and our living room suite.

Not only that, people — people, can you believe it!?! — are going to come over to the house to get the stuff they bought. That means, cleaning. Not only does the house need to be spic and span, but the sold furniture has to be as close to brand new as possible. The amount of time and energy that will go into satisfying Ma Belle Fille’s standards of cleanliness and presentation is Himalayan.

La Petite Fille and University

La Petite Fille is going to university! That means she needs to have the high school credits for admission, so right now, she’s taking an online science class. One class. And honestly, it’s nearly killed me to help her get this far.

To her credit, she’s doing better, but oh my goodness, you’d think asking her to focus on assignments for twenty or thirty minutes was like asking her to pump out my grandmother’s outhouse. I get it. She has pathological demand avoidance, but when I’m sitting on the other side of the table asking her to answer a question that I know she already knows the answer to, and I hear her howl like I’ve just broken her arm or something… How will she earn a degree?

Like I said, she’s getting better.

That’s going to be my life for the next four years or however long it takes her to get her bachelor’s degree. Maybe continuing to work would be better.

Real Estate Whoas

By some miracle, we own two properties out right. Don’t ask me. Our family rule is never give me money. Somehow, Ma Belle Femme has managed to buy two properties during the course of our marriage, and now we’re hunting for a third.

A big chunk of our retirement is tied up in those properties. The idea was to sell the place in Europe and live in the one in North America, but with Trump in office, those plans are looking dicey. Housing prices are down in Europe and no one is looking to buy. It’s like everyone is holding their breath waiting to see if the world explodes or something.

We’ve looked at holding the property until prices get better, but my forecast is that it continues to get worse before it gets better. This time next year, worldwide recession. Better to get what we can now than wait. In an unexpected turn-of-events, though, we make up a lot of what we lose in the exchange rate. Apparently, the Euro is strong right now. Now, if someone will just buy the damn thing.

We’re also house hunting. Luckily, Ma Belle Femme still wants to work and even has a job. You’d think that would make things easier, but you’d be wrong. Before we can get a pre-approved mortgage, we need a definitive statement of her salary. You’d think that would be easy, but you’d be wrong. So, we keep browsing real estate websites, watching the houses we like vanish like the warm days of a Canadian summer. Absolutely, maddening.

The Fascisting of America

I minimize the amount of news I consume because of all of the terrifying crap coming out of the collective ass of Trump and his cabinet right now. We’ve lost herd immunity to measles, there are attempts to suspend habeas corpus, and open bribery is now commonplace. The press is willingly repeating their Newspeak and Doublethink. It feels like madness has descended upon us like flying monkeys on Dorothy.

Without due process, we’re all undocumented immigrants and trans.

And, this is only the beginning. I see nothing but deepening global misery resulting from Trump’s self-serving actions and corruption.

Summer Camp

In perhaps one of the cruelest twists of fate, I’ll be teaching three weeks of summer camp in July. One last paycheck before the long pay drought begins, I guess. Hooray?

My charges will be five to fourteen years old, thankfully divided by age. I’m terrified. The ten to fourteen year olds are okay. No problem. I’ve been teaching that age group for twenty years. The little kids? They terrify me. You’ve got to have every minute planned, you’ve got to keep them busy, you’ve got to match their energy, or you’re doomed. Doomed. They’ll eat you alive. You don’t stand a chance. You don’t have a moment to catch your breath. Let’s be brutally honest here, kids that age are little better than wild animals. There’s no way to control them. You can’t reason with them. They barely have language.

This is the end. I doubt I live through those three weeks. I wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, screaming children echoing in my ears, my skin still prickling as they rend my flesh from my bones.

Thank goodness, I’ve still got Ye Olde Blogge. Anytime the anxiety of needing to plan the summer camp becomes unbearable and I think I’ve no choice but begin, I can always write a blog post. Seriously, the choice between facing down a horde of four and five year olds or writing a snarky, sarcasticky, profaney blog post about how Trump is bringing about the end of our democracy and the world, I’ll take the end of the world every time. Every damn time.

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