Dread.

Dread.

It’s what you feel as ugliness approaches and there is nothing you can do about it. 

·         The move back to the townhome is scheduled. 

·         The 2 storage containers are scheduled to be delivered.

·         The movers are scheduled.

·         The “restoration” company (who may or may not have actually restored anything because they most certainly did not even wipe off the appliances) needs to be dealt with.

·         The notice to the apartment has been given (after talking about it and definitely  not doing it for 6 weeks so I finally filled out the form myself and now she is paying until the end of March)

·         The final punch list is going to the contractor who finished off the inside.

Those are the easy things.  Those are the facts.  Those are the very definitive  “I have an hour I can make some calls and complete these tasks” things. 

The dread comes from the absolute undeniable fact that there are 3 storage containers about to be emptied back into that townhome.   And most of those belongings are unnecessary.   And do not need to be taken out of the boxes.  And she very likely doesn’t even know what is in them anymore.  

The dread comes from knowing that she is going to fight us again  (or still) about going into the basement.   The basement that is unfinished.  The basement that is about to be used to store all those boxes that aren’t going to be opened.  The basement that is only accessed by a sharp 90 degree turn to the top of 11 stairs leading directly to a concrete floor,  so even moving boxes down there (or up again) is going to be physically taxing. 

The dread comes from not actually remembering what furniture we got rid of.  But knowing that most everything in her apartment is brand new.

The dread that comes from knowing that if she couldn’t be bothered to help pack or move anything out of the townhome after the fire that she isn’t going to participate in putting anything back.  But she will certainly complain about how we do it.  Because nothing we do is right.  And being gracious isn’t her thing.

I even dread calling Comcast to get her cable hooked up because it is always miserable.  And because I can’t even feel confident that the cable lines exist in the home because the association’s contractor cut corners every single time they could without remorse.

I dread knowing that even once the storage containers are empty and things are back in her townhouse that we STILL have to pack up and move her out of the apartment.    I dread coming around the corner and discovering her stash of 27 bottles of toilet bowl cleaner because it is unnecessary to stock up on things that only need to be moved. 

I dread the moment that she realizes that her vision of reality and actual reality are not the same.

When I moved her out of the townhome and made the decisions on what should go into her apartment I was thoughtful.  I intentionally brought over art, and items of comfort and items that would allow her to feel “at home” in her “temporary / 2.5 year” home.   She did nothing but nit-pick and criticize and complain.  About me.  To Steve.   When I wasn’t there.   To my face she put on the fake smile and the sugary voice to thank me.   I knew her thanks were lie as they were happening.   I was so irritated by the thank you gift she gave me that I hid it and then forgot about it for nearly a year. 

The energy that it is going to take to get her back in the townhome is exponentially higher than what it took to get her in the apartment and I know the outcome will be the same.

Steve is worried about how her bedroom closet was finished because there is less space that he was planning on.   I remind him that we got rid of 80% of her clothes.

Steve is worried that she’ll be mad that the pantry inside the garage door is now just a coat closet.   I remind him that all she had in that closet was 95 cat dishes that we got rid of (along with the cat) so it should be fine.  But it isn’t going to be fine.

We’re thinking we should have shelving put up in the garage so many of the boxes from the storage container don’t even need to come into the house.   But we don’t remember what shelving was there.  Or if it was kept.  Or if it was moved to her apartment basement or if it was the last thing shoved into the storage container before the doors were forced shut.   But we don’t want to buy more if we don’t have to.  And we also don’t want to pay the movers to put everything on the floor and then have to move it all back on shelves later ourself. 

There is a tremendous amount of work to be done.  We cannot get a head start.  We cannot even mentally figure it out very well because we don’t remember what stuff is where.  We only know that the end result will be stressful.  

Dread.