Paranoid Or Pattern?

Seriously.

There are at least seven items missing from my house after the move.  I shall describe them for you.

• 2 floating shelves, walnut in color, bought originally at WAL-Mart, still in their original packaging with hardware, never opened.
• 2 curtain rods, black with decorative crystal balls on the ends, originally bought at the Christmas Tree Shoppe, still in their original packaging with hardware, never opened.
• 2 Large U-shaped floating shelves, walnut in color, bought originally at Target, didn’t come in any kind of packaging or with hardware.
• 1 decorative Christmas card holder, silver, shaped like a Christmas tree, originally bought at WAL-Mart, still in original packaging, never opened.

These things simply aren’t in my house.  I know I myself brought the curtain rods into the house and put them in the Music Room closet before the movers arrived but no one remembers seeing them again.  No one remembers seeing any of the other items once they left the apartment.

Now, maybe these things looked like they weren’t being used but I actually had plans for them.  The U-shaped shelves were actually in use.  The card holder was bought on sale at the end of the holidays.  The other things weren’t put up at the last place in anticipation of having a new home.

Not to mention, they were my things.  I paid for them.  I loved them.

Someone clearly has taken them.  I mean, I don’t think I’m being paranoid here.  There’s obviously a pattern.  I don’t even think I’m reaching.  It’s not like my mother’s unicorn she never found after she moved to New Mexico five years ago.  These are all clearly things that are still in their store-bought packages (except the U-shape shelves) that could be returned to their stores or given as gifts.  Let’s face it, WAL-Mart will take anything back.  And you can sell anything on  e-bay if it’s in good condition.

Last week, I tried to call the mover’s office because my dad thought they might have accidentally picked up his channelpliers, which turns out to not have been true because it turns out he didn’t bring them with him at all.  I called and left messages three times on their machine.  They’ve never returned my call.  I didn’t sound accusatory or anything, just said who I was and asked for them to call me at such and such number.

I think it’s very suspicious.

My dad thinks I shouldn’t rule out the cable guy or the telephone repair man either, but I think they didn’t have quite the free run of the house and we might have noticed them carrying boxes about.

Thing is I can’t prove it and it’s driving me quite mad.  I keep wandering around my house looking for my missing things like they might suddenly appear — you know, like you do when you misplace your pen or scissors.

It doesn’t help that Pugly keeps barking at boxes I randomly bring up from the basement to unpack for Christmas decorating.  If he doesn’t see me put it there, it’s as if it’s invaded the home and it must have magically appeared.  He will bark and bark and bark even after I pick it up and show it to him.  Then he will look at me like I’m crazy for picking it up and he’ll back away.

This only helps to instill in my paranoid brain that maybe there is a ghostie in the house hiding my things in some secret spot and giggling at my madness.   Granted, the curtain rods were kind of gaudy but what does the ghostie have against floating shelves?

Tags: paranoia, robbers, movers, ghost, the puppy

My Brain May Explode

I wonder why my brain doesn’t explode from the sheer insanity of contradictory messages I get from my parents sometimes — mainly from my mother.

Mind you, I write that with love and thankfulness for all the help they both have been the last few weeks. I know that I could not have done everything that’s been done regarding the move without their help.

However…with closer, constant proximity, comes more regular contradictory messages and I suspect wrinkle lines on my forehead from the almost permanent perplexed expressions on my face. Certainly the strain on my forehead and brain has not helped my headaches.

I will admit that in the past, I was not always financially responsible. There was a dark time where I succumbed to the American Dream of Hopeless American Credit Card Debt. It was at the end of college and it kept building for a few years until it got a bit too large for me to handle as I was extremely underpaid while I struggled to find that American Dream IT job I was promised were the jobs of the 21rst Century that would make me rich. I kept hoping that I’d get that job and everything would work out and I’d be able to pay off the growing debt and everything would right itself.

I wasn’t financially stupid, mind you. I had a good idea of what was going on. I understood how interest rates and late fees and minimum balances worked and I’d read the fine print, but I was digging through my sofa cushions when my friends left in hopes that they left change behind. You can read all of the experts’ books and you can memorize every word Suze Orman ever wrote and dutifully read and discuss The Millionaire Next Door that your parents gave you for your birthday instead of something really useful like groceries or paying your overdue electric bill which has been turned off twice that year already.

Anyway, I eventually worked up the courage, hard as it was, to ask my parents for financial help and admit that I had failed somehow out on my own to manage my money — a huge sin for the daughter of a CPA. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how or that I’m not smart enough to do it, but just that I got caught up playing that game that so many people play these days — “The Credit Game.” You think to yourself that you’ll have the money next month so you put it on your card but then next month you’re in the same boat or worse and then the boat keeps taking on water. Kind of like that scene with Captain Sparrow and the sinking boat at the beginning of Pirates of the Caribbean but not as funny and there’s no dock to step off of; you end up in the middle of the ocean with Davey Jones, basically, and you remember how nice a guy he was.

So, there’s that back history. It took me years to bale myself out of that little sinking ship, but I did do it. I applied what I could from all of those books and articles my parents had been feeding me. I even applied some tricks they told me not to do…and apparently it didn’t hurt because my credit score was 816 when I went to buy my house. But it did take years. It wasn’t overnight. And it was frustrating and it felt hopeless most of the time. There were other things I wanted to do with my money like buy things, invest, buy a house. I was particularly frustrated when I was given a book on investing in the stock market to read but of course couldn’t afford to do so because of my debt.

So, I’ve got all of this knowledge, and I’ve applied some of it. I’m 35 years old. I’ve just bought a house.

What do my parents do? They each, separately, aggressively got on my case within the first two days of moving into the house about paying it off early, about making extra payments.

I haven’t even made my first mortgage payment yet. I haven’t even had a chance to see the reality of my new budget.

Basically they’re treating me like a child, telling me what to do with my money and my house.

So two nights ago while I was unpacking books with my mother, I asked her if she thought I was incompetent. She was surprised and said no. I told her that when she and my father act like they are dictating to me what I should do with the house or my money or how I should pay my bills, etc., it feels to me like they think I don’t know what I’m doing. I held up some of those books they gave me years ago and I said, “You know, I’ve been paying attention all these years. I do have a clue and when I don’t, that’s when I ask.”

She told me that they were just worried because I’d been talking about all kinds of things I wanted to buy for the house and I’d been spending money on the house. I told her that I was keeping an eye on my bank account.

Now, here’s where the contradictions come in. My father gave me some extra money before the move to buy some extra things for the house like curtain rods and garbage cans. The things I’ve bought for the house have pretty much been basic stuff like curtain rods, shades, garbage cans, a plunger, three-prong outlets…it’s not like I’m out redecorating the house. The only thing I splurged on was a breakfast bar because I don’t have a kitchen table.  So then every time I turn around, she’s telling me that I need to get this or that for the house.  I didn’t buy new bookshelves, though the three I have need to be replaced and badly — the shelves actually sag, which she’s commented on.  I know I can’t afford it right now.  So I told myself I’ll just replace them in a year maybe.  For now,  these still hold the books off the floor…mostly. ;)  And my craft supplies can stay in boxes another six months or so.  But now she’s telling me I need to replace the bookshelves and buy metal shelving to hang on the walls of the craft room/office to put my craft supplies on.  Well, gosh, I’d also like a Dining Room table, a new bedroom set, chairs for the Music Room/Study, a mattress set for the guest room…

Not to mention that every time she tells me to start working on some part of the unpacking, she then interrupts me within two minutes to do something else.

Let’s not even start on, you should lose weight, here have some ice cream.
I miss my routine.

Tags: dysfunctional family, move, little red house, credit card debt

Packing Pain

I’m having trouble packing.  The mind is willing, but every time I start, my back starts hurting.  It’s a sharp pain and it feels like my back is breaking.

So far, all I’ve got done is the giant bookshelf in the living room, all my CDs and DVDs, and my cookbooks in the kitchen.  I’ve been bringing all of my knick knacks into the living room and putting them all on the entertainment center so they can all be packed at once.  There’s a couple.  I decided to purge a couple of cookbooks and I put the one cookbook that has my Thanksgiving recipes in the basket with the books I’m reading.  My living room looks like a disaster area and I really need to do some dishes and wash some clothes today.  Plus, I really want to have the office packed today, but the painkiller doesn’t seem to be kicking in.

I’d be willing to pay someone to pack for me but I don’t have the money to do so and I’m to old to get away with paying with brownies and gumbo.

Tags: packing to move