I think I finally cracked (yes, you may ask, again) because instead of trying to locate the source of the buzzing mosquito, black fly, horse fly, or worse at the cabin we've been staying at--and believe me, there are several of each--I found myself trying to hum the same pitch of the buzzing and then hum the interval of a third over that pitch. There is only one reason I can think of for doing that, and it beats the alternative of continuing on a hopeless insect killing spree: submission.
However, there is no way around the construction on the house. At least three or four days out of five, I have woken up to the house literally being jarred by M.A.'s uncle, Y. pounding a hammer, nailing with the swift and loud air gun, sawing; and there's no humming a pitch to that. It has been positively stressful. More than I'd like to admit. But with the whole last year being what it has been, I've been desperately trying to shut my brain off to things that would normally spark my temper. Some days, I feel like I've ingested drugs or some other toxic or otherwise substance because I almost choose to not be my regular self.
And what has this last year been? This "last" place, last home to live in before moving west, for the beautiful, jaw-dropping scenery that it is, has been the third place we've been "stationed" at in a year, and at least the hundredth (or so it feels) place in time and space to have rested our heads without being able to call home. In a word: hell. Yes, "home" has never truly been ours, no matter where it's been, since we got here a year ago, because we have been bouncing around other people's homes, for better or for worse, for reasons beyond our control; and the loss of our independence has been staggering.
I lived with people back when my ex was sick and hated it so much that I swore to myself I'd never do it again.
It's times like these where all of my education about the good, kind, all-loving, all-powerful, all-merciful god we have goes out the window and I feel myself believing like a Puritan or something, and that this is just him showing his wrath in this kind of, "oh, you haven't had enough yet, here you go."
Yet I am trying to hold onto yet another thread--the thread of getting back west and getting back on our feet. M has a career waiting for him, me the opportunity to get back into the workforce and get some more schooling. It seems sickeningly unfair that we have to leave the beauty and culture here to grab at the opportunities anywhere else, yet many positive things await us out west.
Most importantly of all, the two young people I treasure the most in this world will never have to be apart from me like this ever again.