starting here, starting now

I packed some of my favorite and most important books today. And I had so many feelings about doing that, that I figured I needed to start writing them down, because what we are going through right now is not regular or normal, and maybe writing about it will help me feel a little more of both.

But first a quick rewind. I thought of doing a blog with the title "Boss Lady Erin Rules" because I have always had lots of bossy things to share and I figured I would grab a blog domain to keep all my recommendations in one place. Where to go for camping? Look at my blog! How to make (insert delicious item here)? I have a blog post about that! Best beach for a party/sunset/surf break? I have so many blogs about that! The idea was that my bossy "rules" would all be in one place, and I would be pithy and clever and say the word "blog" a lot, and blog blog blog.

That didn't happen. I got this new job, with waaaayyyy less time during the day to do my own thing like I could  back when I was just chilling-on-the-internet-Boss Lady at the HBC, and so I just kept the idea in my head, and added pretend blog posts in my brain. Much in the same way I am a pretend scrapbooker and make pretend scrap books in my brain, but that is another topic for a different blog ("Blog!"). Then our world went topsy turvy, and not in the good tippy top way, but in the worst shitty kind of way. And I realized that I have all this shit going down, and I don't know how to tell the people I love, and the people that love us, all about it. And it's hard, when you do have face time, or phone conversations, or text time, to really break it down without literally breaking down every single time. Plus, it's sad, and there is something about telling your sad tale of woe over and over that wears on a person. And somewhere in my head, I knew that writing can be cathartic, even healing and I can so use those things, so I decided to stop being a pretend blogger, and be a real one instead. And now here I am. Blog! So back to that first sentence. That's the thing that kept reverberating in my brain, saying, "let me out!' that made me want to get all of this down. And now that we've done the "What you previously missed" portion of the program, let's get back to that.

I have been packing books for a few weeks now. When the bottom fell out of my world, and I had my OG Nevous Breakdown (TM), I starting packing the very next day, and books were some of the first things I packed. I even gave away books! Like, gave away with a Facebook post and a "FREE" sign, and watched them fly out of my life. Which, if you know anything at all about me, was incredibly difficult, especially not knowing who was going to take them, or if they were going to a good home. As I was sorting, packing and giving away, I got the best advice from Bash, when he said, "you can give away your books, but you are still entitled to a decent library" and so I clung on to those words, and pictured my new library in a new place, and got comfort from the fact that my besties (the books) would be making that journey with me. Still, I didn't pack all the books. I only packed the ones that I couldn't see, the ones that were on shelves that weren't in my eye line, because the other ones needed to stay with me as long as possible. Because in some magical thinking way, they would continue to give me strength, and power, and words that I needed to get through what was going down in the 9th St Social Club. And then I REALLY started packing books and fell apart all over again.

Time for a flashback. I realized that there may be some friends who still don't know all the things, all the messy, ugly, details of what and when and who and why. OG Nervous Breakdown (TM) they might ask? Does that mean? There were more? And what was the cause for that? And why are you packing? and what is going on with you guys? Those questions are all a part of that first sentence. So let's take a little trip in our time machine and get that supporting info out here in this here blog. It's starting to sound so normal!

In previously shown episodes of "The 9th St Social Club!", you may recall we have not always had the best relationship with the B's, meaning, GB's parents. This is the hard part. Telling my story means telling my truth, and I feel the need for a disclaimer now. I am only writing my experience. I realize that may mean that other people who may be discussed on this blog (!) may have a completely different take on what has gone down, and I am okay with that. I may put words in peoples mouth's, may imagine what they were thinking, may exaggerate for effect, and for an attempt at humor. I do get that the people I am writing about are not the cartoon villains that they have morphed into in my brain, and that the words I write may not always be kind or fair. I also get that talking about family business in a public way can get messy and difficult. I know all of the above, and still. I am going crazy with what is happening and if I can't find a legit way to help me process it, I will go crazier still, so even with all that knowledge, I am still going to blog this blog.

I saw the writing on the wall over a year ago, when Mr. B started a fun new habit of every time we went away for an overnight, or a camping trip, or our annual family vacation in Twain Harte, of telling GB, "The store might not be open when you get back". It was shitty, and it was cruel and it always had the desired effect of making GB worry his way into at least half of the time we were away about having a job when we returned. I will save the History of the Shop and How That Was Supposed to Work for another time, but suffice it to say that it was starting to seem like there wasn't going to be a 135th year for this family business. I made the decision to contact Mrs. B and ask, mom to mom style, what she knew about what was happening and what the plan was for GB's future. My reasons for doing this were pure and were all about wanting to stick up for my husband, and do the right thing by him and maybe even give Mrs. B a heads up about how he was feeling and doing and maybe even get a little support. None of those things happened. What DID happen is that I got completely shut out from all communication going forward. Literally this was the response:

Erin, G called this am.  We discussed much of your issues.  I think at this point it would be best served if you and G addressed everything.  G is lucky to have you in his corner.  K

That was the first week of June, 2014. There was no communication from them to me until Thanksgiving, and even on Thanksgiving, they spoke to G about the plans and the meal, and I just showed up to the dinner. My attitude may have changed a bit by that point, I will be honest about that. My giving zero fucks personality had a tough time in the climate of such a weird family dynamic. Things in the shop seemed grim, there was an attempt at some financial support to the dying business, but now it seems to have been not much more of a band aid for a much greater injury. I don't really know, and I probably never will, since you know, they don't talk to me. 

At Christmas, after several stops and starts at trying to have a family celebration with some extended family in the hopes that more family would mean less awkward times and feelings, it ended up just being the B's for Christmas Eve dinner at a local restaurant. I, graciously, especially since no one was talking to me, opened my home for a pre-dinner present exchange that I still regret doing. Mr. B was awful; he roamed about the house, practically kicking it's tires, inspecting and judging all he saw. Our house is not perfect. We always have a ton of stuff piled on that one desk. Our bedroom is too small for all of our stuff, so there while it is clean, there is "stuff" in all the corners, closets and spaces. I've lived in my home for 25 years, and since it was going to be ours one day, have filled just about every inch of available space. So you can imagine it is incredibly invasive to have Ol' Cuddles looking all around with the crankiest of faces. I remember telling GB when it was all said and done that I would never have them in my home again. (Foreshadowing.....)

The winter led to dark days at the shop and it appeared that promise that it would one day belong to GB was pretend. It did not seem that there was any sense of saving the business, or giving him a chance to run it his way, with his ideas. Now there was a new twist, which was the whispers that the B's were looking at selling the property, including our house. Every question I had about this tremendously upsetting possibility was met with less than satisfying answers. When I asked if there was a way to split the property so that our house would be separate from the business I was told it was being looked into. When I asked what sort of time line there was, the answer was "plenty" of time and that we would have tons of notice. This isn't the kind of thing that happened overnight, you know! At no point during a single day after Christmas Eve did either of the B's talk to me or our son about what the future plans were. I can only assume they were completely forthcoming with GB, but I honestly don't really know that either. By March it seemed clear that the only future we knew was that they were intent on selling the business and our home, and that we had to consider that our new future. It was real enough that by the end of the month I told my closest girls and shed a few tears. I didn't have any answers to their questions about when or what was next. The party line kept being that the B's would help us. And that there would be plenty of time. And that we would never be homeless!  A realtor was hired-ish. A friend of ours that is in commercial real estate gave some valuable advice. Limbo was the new black and we started putting quiet words out to some folks that we were going to need to move (soon? immediately? never?) and if anyone knew of a place, to give us the heads up. 

And still, radio silence from Team B Parentals. It would stand to reason that if they truly were selling our home, that we were promised, that we even had been promised in the Living Trust, wouldn't there be a conversation with the people who live in the house at some point along the way? And if the convo wasn't about the selling of the promised home, perhaps a chat about the "what happens next" part of our lives would have been appropriate. Something. Any things. Not just...nothing? And again, who really knows what they were telling their child, but I can promise you that the other two out of the three bodies who are still living in that house had exactly zero words of any kind. 

Then Saturday, May 16th happened. I woke up sobbing, in a panic attack, and just felt a sense of doom and devastation. I hated the not knowing, the uncertainty of my whole life, and we were fighting all the time about me needing answers. I needed to have a plan, and to know what exactly was happening around me and I had Stonewalls on one side, and a husband who was dancing as fast as he could on the other. I was also sick, with almost no voice, and I thought maybe that is why I felt so out of control. GB came in to the bedroom when he heard me sobbing and was visibly worried. I don't sob uncontrollably, I don't get panic attacks. He told me he would tell his dad he needed some time that day and we would take a drive to the Oakland Hills, clear our head like we did when we were first dating. I would like that, right? But that wasn't working, I still kept crying. I started reading to take my mind off of all the things, then I got the call from my sister.

In an effort to speed this whole thing along, I will try to make this concise. The Shop. Our House. For Sale. Listed in the MLS and now a post on a popular local page on Facebook. Did I know? Of course I did not. I lost my shit. I emailed the mod of the page and asked him to take down the post. My first thought was our son, and how he was at work and how would he find out? Would it be from a customer? Not his family? I called GB, and could barely get the words out, is it true? Is it officially for sale? Was no one going to tell me? Did you know? When were they going to tell me? Our son? On Facebook? For all the internet to know before I did? Who does that? On FUCKING FACEBOOK? I am finding out my house is for sale for a god damn mother fucking FACEBOOK post? GB came home, tried to start the conversation with the words, "well, you knew..." and then I really, really lost my shit. I knew. I KNEW? What did I know, what have I known since any of this has started? Don't tell me what I know! Then again, "well you knew...". I begged him not to tell me what I knew. But when he said it again all rational thought went out of my head. I threw my water bottle at him. I am so glad it didn't hit him. The next time the words "you knew..." happened they were met with my curling iron, my straightening iron, a wooden bedside tray, and my alarm clock. Please do not tell me what I know. All I know, I found out on Facebook. 

At some point, I talked again to my sister. It might have been during the Throwing Times. She was worried enough to call my mom, who she knew was closer and could get to my house faster. I am pretty sure I only said I needed Xanax, but whatever. It wasn't the perfect person to come over. The "you knews" started and I could only reiterate that my reaction, while over the top and very upset, certainly wasn't unexpected from someone who just found out her home was on the market from a Facebook post. I thought that even managing to croak out that pretty reasonable sentiment was a testament to how not out of control I was. The "pep" talk that was attempted was not working, and I said something along the lines of "please stop making those words come out of your mouth, or please walk out the door now". My other younger sister came over and eased Pep Talk out of the house before we could revisit the Throwing Times. My other sister came over a little while later with a couple of Atavan that she had ascertained from her mental health professional neighbor would be the best thing to address the emotional tailspin I was in. She also had calls out and a line on the Xanax. I am forever grateful that I got lucky enough to have the sisters I have, and that they came through for me the way they did that day. 

The next day the packing started. And there is still more! This whole post was started by the thoughts I had while packing last Thursday, June 11. And I will get back to that part of the story. At least this part is out for now, and I can let it stop rolling around in my head. But stay tuned- more surprises! Betrayals! Hurts! Hope! And so much more! Thanks for reading, if you made it this far!