Sick of Myself

There are moments when I am just so tired of me and the things I do that I want to just sit and cry.  If I’m not any better at doing things by now, simple things, what hope is there that I will improve in the future?

It’s no wonder that I get anxiety when I sit down at a desk.  It is there that my worst times occur.  It used to be in school and I thank God regularly that I no longer am putting myself in that environment. Now it is my desk at home, my desk where papers flock to taunt me, where the cubbies are black holes of disappearance, and where the only things easily found are the things I don’t need at the moment.  So what could possibly have caused all this angst, you wonder? I couldn’t find an address. 

I ordered a book that I wanted to give my brother and his wife.  After ordering, I realized I hadn’t changed the mailing address – I wanted it to go directly to them and not to me.  So off to the edit page I went, thankfully there was one, and began filling in the blanks, but I couldn’t remember their house number.  I had been in the same situation not six weeks ago and had gotten their address at that time but to my amazement, it was not listed in my phone contacts.  I remember that I wrote it down somewhere. Could it have been only on the package I was mailing?  I remember remarking that it was only one number different than my parents address, but was that one number higher or lower?  I had just called my sister-in-law to make sure they didn’t already have the book so I was not in the mood to call again and totally embarrass myself.  I looked in my address book which reminded me of the address where they used to live four years ago.  I looked in my planner where nothing was listed except phone numbers.  I called my mother who wasn’t available at the time. I looked for the postal receipt for the last package I had mailed to them –  and it is really a joke that I would think I could find that.

So I put my parent’s address in the blank.  At least the book will get to someone who knows where it really goes. I have this same type of crisis every time I see the word “password”.  I do exactly what they say not to do – I write all my passwords down in one place, hard copy, so I can look them up.  But invariably the one I’m looking for is one that isn’t recorded.  Another scary phrase, “income tax report”, makes me want to go hide in a motel somewhere until April 15th is past. And I don’t even do the filing.  Where are all those W2’s and 1099’s and UFO’s and whatever else? Where did last year’s report go after we were done with it? Why on earth do we need that?  Help me.

Because I love the exercise of trying to be organized I will not give up. I’m going to celebrate (inwardly) every time I find something in the place I think it’s supposed to be. But ultimately, I am grateful that I’m not defined by my ability to be organized and that I am loved in spite of all the things I lose track of.  Sick of myself but in hope of getting well soon.

Talk (write) to me.

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