We’ve all been there: so overwhelmed with anger and frustration that, in spite of our best efforts, we just can’t hold it in for another second. And then it happens, as we are powerless to stop it: we lose our shit.
Yesterday was what you might call a let-down. Big disappointment. I’ll go one step further to call it an absolute piss-off. I drove five hours with my Mom and F to the new apartment. The building manager looked at me like a crazy person.
“We didn’t have an appointment for today, did we?”
“Um, yep… I was supposed to take ownership today… I called twice this week to confirm. My power was supposed to be hooked up yesterday…”
Meanwhile I’m looking out the window at tenants in the building across the driveway smoking. In their apartment. Wait, didn’t I sign a lease that stated I absolutely could not smoke in the building? Why is she still looking at me like I sprouted a second head? She scrambled around her office looking through paperwork, occasionally glancing quizically at me and then announced, “I don’t know why this wasn’t written down.”
I watched her write it down the day of the lease-signing. I spoke to her last week. I called again this week, twice. Once to confirm my move-in date, the second time to confirm that the power corporation would be setting my power up. Somehow, she missed all of that.With a sick feeling in my stomach, I started wondering if I had made a mistake. Is this what I’m going to be contending with in this building, with this company?
The truth is that the series of events that led up to my gasket-blowing started long before my meeting with the building manager. I was overtired, feeling unwell and stressed out about moving. Finley was feeding off of my anxiety and acting up in the way that only two-year-olds can. I awoke yesterday with a heavy heart and a sense of dread. I snapped at Mom, Dad and F. I grumbled the whole way to the apartment, my bad mood stewing.
When I went to let myself into the apartment, I was greeting with the smell of fresh paint. YAY! They told me they didn’t think they would bother repainting it when I had asked (three times). Sense of happy disappeared when I got completely through the door and saw that the apartment was in complete disarray. Shelves were laying on paper on the floor, wet paint all over them. The walls were tacky with their first coat of paint, but the ceilings looked fantastic! Cigarettes laid on my counter top and the lights were on. No one was there, but it was pretty obvious my apartment would not be ready for me to move in.
Nope. Wednesday. Great. My plans to get the apartment ready before I started classes on November 1 were thrown up in the air and smashed into smithereens. The only bonus is that a full carload of stuff has been unloaded into the middle of a bedroom and thus, that work is done. Angrily, I locked the door and drove away from the apartment. We went to the mall to walk around after five hours spent in the car, only to have Finley launch himself into the world’s biggest meltdown. As I drove down the highway I could feel my frustration boiling over, and then it happened.
I cried and grumbled and yelled and then I felt instantly better.
For how mad I was about leaving the apartment, I felt like a million bucks (except for cramped legs and a soreback from sitting in a car for nearly twelve hours). I got to sleep in my bed, snuggle with my dog and after F’s bad mood had also passed, we bought a new movie for the car DVD player.
Once again my plans fell through and things looked bleak, but once the cranky skies cleared I was able to reroute and snuggle with one floppy eared dog. Just one more blessing in disguise to add to the list.