|Unlike Binkley, my anxieties refuse to politely confine themselves|
to a single room.
Yeah, I'm pretty much penciling in an anxiety attack every night for the next...calendar season.
|Welcome to my well-organized psyche.|
Yesterday, I spent eight hours at work tap dancing around numerous deadlines. Which is all I could do, because we had no: phones, internet, server access, email, or network connection.
Yesterday, I discovered that in 2015, there is literally no part of my job that I can do without a network connection. Except drink coffee. Which I absolutely consider part of my job.
|If they ever invent a coffeemaker that runs on|
a CAT-6 connection, I'm screwed, people.
When I got home, completely wiped out, I began to obsess over the fact that the photographer was going to be at our house in less than 24 hours, and OMG we're not ready. Somehow all the hard work Precocious Daughter and I had put into to cleaning the place was completely undone, and the place was a pigsty.
|Possibly I was seeing things through the lens of anxiety.|
See the pattern?
So...two more days until the house goes on the market, x number of days before we get an offer (where x hopefully will be a single-digit number), y number of days until closing OR the buyer deciding they hate the house, me, and everything I stand for and backing out...
I'd like to get off this Being a Grownup ride, please. Turns out it's scary and makes me want to throw up.
I'm going to have some more coffee. Reliable, dependable coffee. Tastes good, perks me up, makes me poop.
I'll post again tonight. Unless, you know...anxiety.