I’m a procrastinator. I might even go so far as to say I’m the world’s very best procrastinator. But who wants to hold that title?
There’s this THING that’s needed my attention for a long time. I’m talking years, peeps. YEARS. (I told you I was the best.) I finally made an appointment to take care of said THING which means that, as I type this, wheels are in motion. And you don’t know what a relief that is.
Oddly enough, I feel wretched. In fact, after receiving The Husband’s incredibly supportive e-mail (in response to mine which briefly explained the details and “I know this is going to cost a bit of money, but please be supportive.”), I cried. No, I’m not sitting here flooding the office, but there was definite leakage of the eyes.
I don’t know why this makes me so emotional. Wait. Yes, I do. Because this THING has caused a lot of embarrassment and anxiety since I was a teenager. And because I’m going to be thirty soon (soon enough) and dealing with this as an adult is somehow even worse. And because The Husband’s e-mail, while, again, totally supportive, just made me realize that I’ve been a complete fool for thinking I was doing even a remotely sufficient job of controlling the situation.
It makes me sad to know I’ve treated myself this way.
I’m not ready to share all the deets with the WWW, but I will say this: as soon as it’s done (which will most likely be an entire year from now), I’m totally going camping. IN A TENT.