off the cuff

I like my house – an off-the-cuff joint.

My house is my favourite place. I’m currently entertaining bids to put in a basement suite: I don’t love the process of rejecting people. I don’t love the thought of debt. But it makes sense in terms of the space and future plans.

It’s a family-sized house, and the kids are now out. I don’t need all this space. I don’t want to clean all this space. Maybe. People geographically here all the time would be a mental adjustment: it’s been a long time since I’ve lived so close to others.

I spend most of my life in my house. Too much, in all likelihood, but all my stuff is there, and I like my stuff. I get lonely occasionally. I need to get out and get involved in things, to volunteer in some capacity to increase my circle of interaction, but I’m also dealing with ill and dying parents – one of each – and that takes some energy.

My house has issues. It’s old. Not Europe-old, but it turned thirty last year and what’s left of the original fittings needs to be replaced.

That’s a lot of words to say I need kitchen repairs and new floors. And for “need” we can read “want.” Most of it is still functional, albeit dated, save for the drawers in the kitchen that have lost the wheels on their slides. So far, we’ve been unable to figure out a fix. They do kitchen drawers differently now.

I do love the redundancy of consumer capitalism.

I wish I had oodles of disposable income to toss at my house, but like most of us, I don’t. I content myself with surface-level modifications instead. Like paint and organized cupboards.

Happiness is bins, after all. I’ve even started using them in the fridge. One for dipping sauces – tzatziki, humus, sour cream; one for fruit cups – don’t judge; one for beverages – Diet Coke looks prettier in a bin; and one for bread. I even put one in the produce drawer for supreme redundancy.

I did draw the line at eggs.

I enjoy puttering in my house. It helps shut off my brain; organizing soothes my anxious PTSD. Cleaning doesn’t do the same thing, oddly enough. But I can’t seem to organize enough to shut up my brain of late. I keep thinking about this one thing:

I found a lump in my left breast. I had one there four years ago, and that one turned out to be cancer. Radiation follows the lumpectomy, and then you start the clock. Five years and you’re home free. Your odds of cancer go back to what they were before you had it. Or so they say.

The lump’s been bothering me for about six weeks. Some pain, and this annoying lump. It’s like a paper cut – once you find it, you remain aware. Pain is actually a good sign; it’s less likely to be cancer, and cancer likely isn’t likely at all, but knowing things isn’t always helpful. I tend to overreaction and dramatization even in the face of facts. I definitely stewed before going to the doctor last Thursday.

My brain loves a good disaster daydream. I enjoy being imaginarily valiant.

In a perfect world, the doctor would’ve found nothing and brushed me off. I knew that was unlikely given my history, just as I know that statistically, it’s still likely to be nothing. But I’m not given to optimism much these days anymore. It’s been a hard run of one thing after another since October 2019.

But he found the lump too, so it’s a diagnostic mammogram this Friday.

And it’s nothing, and I know it’s nothing – it’ll be a cyst, or maybe a problem with the excision site. But it’s on my mind, and I find I’m a little bit obsessed.

I also haven’t shared. This is also likely why it’s looming large. I told my counsellor, but we don’t talk daily. My friends and I are more friendly acquaintances these days, and my family is under enough strain with my mother’s terminal lung cancer. So silent and stewing. It’s not as fun as it sounds.

As it turns out, we do need others some of the time. Even if it’s just for a smack upside the head and an admonishment to stop being a drama queen. Though I’m in my fifties now; it’s probable that my tendency to melodrama is well-set.

Thanks for the ear. Fingers crossed.

72 thoughts on “I like my house – an off-the-cuff joint.”

  3. Pingback: Mastitis, not breast cancer – an off-the-cuff joint. – From Famine to Feast.

  5. I am happy that you’ve acknowledged the need for others, whether virtual or what not. :) Stress manifests physically over a long period of time, and I’m glad that you love your house. I’m happy to hear too about the things that make you happy. :) Because I agree, happiness is not always in the big or grand things. I live with my parents now (they’ve gotten older and can’t manage on their own), and I know what you mean about fixing. I’ve come to terms with minimizing and focusing on function. Other than that, I’d like to focus on smiles and laughter. :) Thank you for this share. All the best.

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  7. Pingback: I like my house – an off-the-cuff joint. – OFSdevs

  9. Being dramatic… oh bother, are we related? I can remember some months ago I had quite a nasty toothache, and I can remember being sure that I would have to get it pulled. It wasn’t bruxism, that much I was sure, this was a front tooth and not a back tooth. It was too much sweet food!

    Turns out I’m an anxious night clencher and I clench at the front. A bite guard did away with both my toothache and my twitchy temple in about a week, but like you, I was so sure that it was something terrible. It’s also why my husband doesn’t like me reading the news anymore: “could” means “definitely will” in my books, and “definitely will” means “will be absolutely terrible”. A vivid imagination can be a a wonderful blessing at times, but it can be one heck of a curse at others.

    Anyway, I hope you do get the all clear

    and it really is nothing to be worried about. Coincidentally enough I have a boob lump myself at the moment, but hidradenitis suppurativa runs in my family and it’s already diagnosed for me, so I know exactly what it is. Washing, warm compresses and antiseptic ointments never hurt to try, but if that doesn’t improve it, it’s probably best to get it looked at. Good luck!

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    1. Thank you. Life hard is for us worriers: we live through a thousand deaths. I’m glad you found the source of the problem. Dental pain is no joke – isn’t it funny how such a small thing – a tooth – can create such misery.

      I’m sorry about the hidradentis suppurativa – I looked it up. The human body has a lot of ways to glitch.

      It turned out to be mastitis – who knew one could suffer in menopause.

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