Painting, packing, parsing, planning = PANICKING!

Let's get the panicking over with first:

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AH! AH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

Whew! Onward to...

1) Painting:

I just got the Girl Genius #11 schedule from Kaja Foglio. She wants the final painted files in by the end of March.

Problem: We're going to be moving at the end of March. And even before we move, we have to pack. AND find a new apartment.

Sonofabitch. AAAHHHHHHHHH!!! I can't see myself getting much sleep in the next three or so weeks...

2) Packing:

None of it is done yet. Not even the basic go-through-the-apartment-and-throw-out-the-stuff-we-don't-want-to-pack stage.

AHHHHH!

3) Parsing:

Apartment-for-rent listings, that is. Yesterday, as so often happens between my husband and me, we spontaneously found ourselves moving in synch without having to discuss it -- and started combing through apartment listing wholesale. We came up with 42 apartments that could suit us.

Now all we have to do is find one that will take us in, given that part of the reason we're moving out of our current place is because we couldn't keep up in the rent payments (thank you, Unnamed Comics Company, for stiffing us on a $3000 US cheque) and have negotiated a settlement with the landlord that has us out of this place by the end of March.

(One of the other reasons was that, on our end, we're fed up with the lack of maintenance on the property; for example, we've had a repaired wall that they promised to paint 6 years ago, and still haven't... plus broken light fixtures... it will be good to move on to a better managed property. Nonetheless...)

AHHHHHHHHHH!

4) Planning:

Beltane in the Park on May 2nd 2004... I'm supposed to be co-running it this year with another local Pagan, H., but as anyone who's been reading this journal knows, I've had trouble just keeping on top of my symptoms these past few months. I have to give H. a call and start the ball rolling. Fortunately, we have a suitcase full of ritual robes, and several people I know have already offered to take places on the ritual team.

Let's see, we need:

High Priestess
High Priest
North Quarter Caller
East Quarter Caller
South Quarter Caller
West Quarter Caller

Plus a ritual script, plus ritual props. I DO have a few ideas for those -- we'll have to run with what we have on-hand, since I can't afford to buy anything new at the moment.

Plus I'm still not sure exactly where the Maypole ended up, or how we're going to get it to the site, or where we're going to store it once we get it there. PLUS we have to have streamers made up (are any left over from last year? I certainly can't afford to buy new ones...). Plus... plus...

Okay, back to panicking:

AHHHHHH! AH! AH! AHHHHHHHH!

(runs away screaming...)

Thoughts about personal (dis)honor

These last few months I've been living with an increasing sense of personal dishonor, due to the fact that we owe our current rental agency money.

So now we've negotiated a settlement where we'll be out of the apartment by the end of March. The money we owe will be completely paid back before we move out... This is a relief, and the best solution we could manage. Still, even though most people I've confided in have expressed the opinion that "it's only money" and I have no reason to be ashamed of the situation, I find myself feeling... stained.

"Why do you feel so bad about it?"

On the surface, that's a no-brainer: because I want to be able to honor my word and my negotiated commitments, even though it's not my fault per se that one of our clients screwed us out of the money we were expecting to live on for a couple of months.

However, if this were happening to one of my friends, would I look upon them as unkindly as I'm looking upon myself?

No. I suspect I'd be more sympathetic. Perhaps growing up with so little money, always on the edge of disaster, and seeing my mother so dismayed at the thought of not being able to pay the bills, I have an enhanced sensitivity to money issues. My mother painted anyone who couldn't make their bill payments as BAD (in 36-point letters); to her, such a thing was the ultimate sin anyone could commit. Hence the way my adrenal glands kick in every time I think about the subject.

So here I am, living that particularly shameful type of dishonor. I feel horrible about the entire situation, and am having a very hard time forgiving myself. The scary thing is, I'm not even sure if I should -- or not...