What a difference a day makes. 24 hours ago I was optimistic and confident that, although everything in the world is against us, we will prevail. Now I sit here full of self doubt (and more likely, self pity) thinking that we were stupid for even thinking that we could pull this off. How dare we try to do something nice for ourselves? Haven’t we learned our lesson yet that any time we pick up our heads we get them kicked back into the mud? I belong down here in the dirt, I’ll never know why Teresa stays down here with me.
There just isn’t enough time. Money is trickling by and I think we can stop the bleeding but there’s no way to come up with any more time. The forecast looks like it will rain all weekend in Jacksonville and I won’t be able to get the house painted. This means that I will have to try to get it painted on the weekend before festival. Like I don’t have a billion other things to do that weekend. Pre-festival weekend is ALWAYS hectic and busy right up until we drive out there. And if we DO get the paint on the fricking house, the realtor will be there Monday morning to get things set up.
Rabid dogs have been tearing at the unraveling corners of my mind, pulling it in twenty different directions at once, tearing it to pieces and feeding on the grey matter. Two weekends to get my life back in order. Two weekends to bleed out and die…
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