I Guess I Freaked Out

I can’t believe it’s two months. It’s like I never have a minute to think with everything that has to get done, and when I do have time, my head feels like it’s going to explode and I take the meds that Dr. W_____ said I can only have for another month and then if I can’t get myself to chill it’s regular antidepressants which always make me puff up like Oprah in between diets. Anyway, I forgot all about this til Jeff asked me the other day “whatever happened to the blog?” I promised him as soon as I unpacked the computer, I’d try it again. Because he’s right, I need someone to talk to and there isn’t anyone out here to have coffee with and except for him, my other friends get all “oh you poor thing, sorry I have to run”-ish on the phone, that is if they even take my calls.

So now I’m sitting in the kitchen out here in Arahmpett, hard to believe I know, deciding whether or not to crack open one of the mini Fatwitch brownies I got the other day when Jeff took me to Chelsea Market for a kind of bon voyage stock up. That was so sweet of him, to do that. I know I’m only a couple of hours away from the city, and there are plenty of places out east of here where I always go when we’re in Bridgehampton….Strike that. Where I used to go when we used to be out at the beach. It’s hard to wrap my head around all that being gone. It’s not just the days of gourmet food shopping that are pretty much history. If I hadn’t gone out for the weekend, to recover from the shock of that phone call from the accountant, I wouldn’t have been able to even get my personal things over to this house the way I managed to do.

I have to keep telling myself how lucky I am to have this house. People didn’t understand when I bought it for Uncle Harry back in ’79. You were supposed to blow your first big money on parties and clothes and, well, blow. If you were buying a house, you should buy something cool on a beach or a loft or something. Andy lived with his mother of course, but that was Andy. Anyone else, if you wanted to help the relatives, well, you bought them cars or fur coats so they could show the neighbors. People who knew about it laughed when I bought a kind of crummy house out by the fishermen and potato farmers, but this was where Uncle Harry’d grown up and where he wanted to stay if only he didn’t have to worry about a mortgage, and I thought it was the least I could do for all he’d done for me growing up. When he died, he willed it back to me of course. That was when Erich and I were living in Prague. There was so much going on there back then, it was all I could do to make it back for the funeral. I couldn’t hang around to sell a house. Anyway, Arahmpett’s kind of a dead zone, so I knew it wasn’t going to be so easy to unload. My lawyer said I might as well hold onto it, so I could keep a U.S. residence. And when Gary’s team was drawing up the pre-nup and insisted on keeping the Tahoe and Bridgehampton properties in his name, it helped me keep some pride to having something I was going keep in my own name, so I didn’t sell it like some of my friends said to and get a facelift, which was about how much money it was worth. Now it turns out that was a good thing, because with the apartment being in both our names, this is the only place that’s not considered “an asset of the marriage” so it’s the only place they can’t take away from me.

Okay, before I get any more depressed – like that’s even possible – I think I’m going to have that Fatwich.