As I was commenting on other blogs about how stressed I felt, it occured to me to take a wee pause and tell you about it. Obviously I'm desperate to vent.
My 18 year old son and three childhood friends are leaving for a month long tour of Europe, a backpacking trip for which their plan is not to plans. The parents and I are working our asses off getting them phones, gears, addresses to stay, and the boys are evasive at best, wondering why we hover so much, why we worry about every little detail. I am drafting up charts they will not consult, printing maps they won't read, making hostel reservations they plan on canceling, I agonize over directions, sleep loss, bed bugs, robbers, and my mind goes all kinds of even more awful places ... well, have you seen 'Taken'.
Meanwhile what are the boys doing? Are they planning? Are they packing? NO. They are at my house shooting the last scenes of a short film. There is equipment everywhere and very large semi-men all over the house( who seem to have discovered my cupboard and are eating EATING, eating.) Some are wearing snazzy artifical mustaches and many are sporting fake blood. All of them have prop guns.
Oh wait, but I could pack. I want to pack! but I can't because the house is presently a Film Location and I'm sequestered in my bedroom. This is a violent scene (the same over and over) that involves several gunshots, agonizing screams and a the same horrible curse words shouted with gusto.
Meanwhile the dog (who is not part of the shoot) is also sequestered in my bedroom where she is happily farting the day away. This suck. A lot.
And I have to get the house ready, and myself packed, because we're leaving the next day.
But it's all good stress. This morning I saw my friend Susan, who only a month ago lost her husband and father of her 6 and 12 year olds. It put things in prospective. "It all sucks" she said. And in her case, it really does.