Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad…

I have been reading your comments all and they are really helping me. Now I remember one big fat reason I blog (of several). So thank you.

The good news is that Noah had a 24 hr flu. He didn’t throw up again, was just a bit queasy and out of sorts on Monday, and went back to camp today and had a grand old time including spaghetti and meatballs. So that is good. He is amazing. I cannot believe he turns three on Thursday.

Me though, not doing so well. First of all, still feel like there’s a knuckle being shoved into the base of my throat. Which is constantly triggering. I feel exhausted not freaking out. (Unsuccessfully, see below.)

I went for the ultrasound yesterday, after having to change clinics because the small-but-good one messed up my appointment time/date so I had to go three subway stops over to the large-and-disorganized one. Then I had to hound that one to get the results to my doctor, today. She goes away tomorrow.

However she hasn’t called (reception warned it might be as late as 10 pm) and I was not able to get an appointment so I didn’t have to wait to be called.

(My doctor’s office is atypically screwy about this, even for Canada. They have like, I swear, 4 appointments per day you can book in advance, which are typically booked up about 8 months in advance, so they work fine if you know in a year you need a pap smear or something. But all other appointments, you have to call at 9 am to get a “sick appointment.” The problem is, my doctor’s practice is almost all old people (i.e. people who need a lot of appointments), plus ‘legacies’ like me and Noah (child and grandchild of original patient). So they all call at 9:01, and the office does not have voice mail – or a computer, but that’s a whole other thing. So literally by 9:20 there are no appointments left.)

All this made me quite grumpy, because I had worked from home in order to be available for any time of appointment. I’m supposed to limit my days at home to one per week. But I am wafflingly still planning Thursday as a work at home day, see, 3rd birthday, above – that way I can go cut cake at the school.

And oh yes, on my way down my street to the ultrasound appointment my car experienced “unintended acceleration” again. (I parked it there, and there it sits.) This makes it official: there is no fucking way in hell that I am keeping it. But the financial setback is going to be steep, because I really cannot sell this car privately. So I can trade it in (assuming Volvo can fix it enough for that), but as I still have a balance owing, I’m going to have to pay that cash.

This sucks, and I hate cars. Volvo will give me a great deal on another Volvo. Right. When hell freezes over. And I am not saying that only because my car is trying to kill me and the service has pretty much sucked. I’m saying that because I don’t really want a luxury vehicle. It was/looked like/was (because I do believe these problems were not there when we bought it) a good deal at the time but just – no. No no no no no.

I even went to test drive a Honda Fit, even though it’s too small in many ways, under the theory that we don’t need a big car Right Now and Carl’s car will need replacing by the time we do. You get an environmental rebate and hey! It’s cute! But there are none left! Because I like the cars Canadians like: the Mazda 5 mini-minivan for a big car, and the Honda Fit or Civic for a small car (would love hybrid or Prius but it’s out of our price league). Or Corolla. What can I say? In my defense, the Civic, at least, is manufactured here in Ontario.

Anyways, for the Fit the ’08s are sold out and the ’09s have a waiting list for Sept. Joy. I might jump for Civic. Or I might jump for a 5. What I really want is a used something (Civic? There are like, no used 5s) except… I don’t want to be burned again. It would have to be certified warrantied used or something.

Anyways, I can’t deal with it though. I can’t deal with part of the reason our savings is depleted (has everything to do with Carl) and I really, really needed to have a car paid off by next year. That was the plan for a reason and it bothers me. It kind of bothers me I moved out to the edge of Toronto where really practically I pretty much do need a car if I don’t want Noah in extra hours of care (I don’t). The money and carbon footprint of it bothers me.

And I can’t deal with this death-trap of a car because, possibly due to thyroid and possibly just plain old me, everytime I even think of that car I have this vivid picture of Noah burning to death while I try to get him out of the carseat (THANK YOU THE GARGOYLE for all the burn ward detail). I don’t know. Something about this latest unintended acceleration after they ASSURED me I could put my toddler in the car has just made me irrational. I haven’t even had the car towed or called them yet because I honestly think I am going to become a raving psycho about it. There’s some rationality in being upset, but I know myself and I know I am far, far over that line inside my head.

Both these experiences, the no-appointment-for-you and no-car-for-you thing have made me feel like I did about Emily dying and the way I felt being abused growing up, that I am saying things are Wrong and NO ONE IS LISTENING.

And I know that there is a tiny kernel of perhaps not responsibility, or maybe it is indeed, which is that when I get crazy like this I shut down. I continue to be polite on the phone and not go off on reception for not squeezing me in because I called at 9:18. And to deal with Volvo as if they were not being completely incompetent.

And I know on some level that if I would up the yelling factor I might, just might, get a little something I want. In the doctor’s case I wanted an appointment before she goes away for 2 weeks while I feel like I am being strangled, which did happen to me in a dorm room in 1990. And in the car case I want Volvo to accept the vehicle with my gracious thanks and write off the remainder of the loan, which would be half the value were the car working (which they say it does, except, you know, when it has unintended acceleration, which is when they suddenly say “well you didn’t DRIVE it did you?”)

But back to me. I know that if I would up the yelling level I might get through to someone. But I rarely do (only if Noah is directly in danger). A small part of this is the ENFP/J part of me that thinks that the world should not work like that and I will not contribute to it, the little fairness maker.

But the vast majority of it is the fear of that rage, the fear that my anger outweighs me by a factor of a million and if I loose it into the world the skyscrapers will fall and the volcanos erupt and the skies turn to ash and the seas to salt. And I know, thanks to years of introspection and therapy, that of course this is not the case, and it’s a little narcissistic, and that it’s in fact the ass-backwards way to deal with it; instead boundaries should be set, anger should be expressed, and that is what paradoxically brings it to heel.

Oh yes, I know that, but I can’t… quite… get there. Yet. Say it with me: Volvo service guy, I am VERY ANGRY AND UPSET that my car is UNSAFE and your department has NOT BEEN ABLE TO ADDRESS MY CONCERNS.

The thing is, I said this last week.

Also, icing on the cake: if this is my thyroid, one of the symptoms is heightened anxiety. AHAHAHA.

Anyways.

My goal this week is to enjoy Noah’s birthday. Hopefully by Thursday and his party on Sunday I can let some of these things go enough.