I’m a procrastinator.
In part, this is a deliberate decision, as I tend to be one to produce best under pressure. The other part of it is the fact that I generally have the attention span of housefly jacked up on Pepsi and Skittles.
Most of the time, it works for me.
Last Friday happened to be the trigger point of several items I’d been procrastinating. My long deferred tax prep appointment was scheduled, in a lull between cancelled clients I started a blog move I’d been considering for several months, and we started checking into dumpster rentals and other post demolition/pre-construction work.
Add to that one unexpected universe slap and I suddenly found myself in the midst of my own perfect storm.
The inquiry calls came first – a simple string of call arounds to determine pricing, delivery dates on both a dumpster and roofing material. No biggie there, right?
Then I started the blog move – from WordPress.com to org. May I just say 5 minute install, my ass?
That’s like a car dealer saying you can drive off the lot in five minutes. Which you can do, provided you are pre-approved for your loan, you filled out all the paperwork online, you already registered the new vehicle with your insurance company and God leaned down and promised the dealer a dozen more clean commissions.
SQL, FTP, PhP – first I had to wade my way through the alphabet soup of the pre-setup setup. Which I had to systematically work through one item at a time, learning what it was, finding a suitable one and figuring out how to install and use it.
Just push that tiny bit of stress down in the gut and move on.
I didn’t even come close to finishing that project before my last client of the day, after which I had to race to the car for the 45 minute drive to my tax lady.
I will say this. I no longer think her to be a magician. In fact I believe her to be a sadist. A cruel, viscous sadist who slowly gutted me with a lemon dipped spork before throwing me out the door with a reminder that I had two and a half weeks to come up with the sum she had given me.
Just push that bit of horror down into the gut, too. Stay calm and move on. ‘Cause if I freak out, then hubby freaks out, and that is never pretty.
Her one boon to me was this: she was willing to hold the check I wrote.
Which was truly a gift, because on the way out of my yard, I stopped at the mailbox only to discover that I had no paycheck.
Ummm, tax appointment, no money. Direct debit car payment, direct debit school payment, direct debit house payment. No new money. This was definitely going to be a problem.
Swallow the stress, Nettie, there’s nothing you can do about it until Monday when there are once again live bodies in the corporate offices 3500 miles away.
The next day was Saturday, and I had a rare schedule full of clients. Just a teensy bit more stress there. My guts were getting a bit sick of storing all the stress.
And after I dropped off the babysitter, I planned to grocery shop.
My guts had other plans.
Instead of taking a right and heading into town, instinct had me take a left instead and drive to where my husband works. But once I arrived, I didn’t have the strength to get out of the car.
I sat there for 45 minutes until his boss came out for a smoke break. She rushed back inside and hubby came out to take me straight to the hospital, with only a few short breaks on the way so that I didn’t vomit all through the new car.
8 hours later I was discharged. They were pretty sure it was my gallbladder. Eat nothing but white rice and unseasoned chicken, come back Monday morning for more tests.
Spent Sunday reconstructing the blog, only to discover that WordPress kept blanking out pages. Links list, gone. Followers, gone. Drafts, gone. Why? Why WordPress, why?
Monday morning, I sent a crazy email about my check, cancelled my first two clients and went back to the hospital. Definitely my gallbladder. Awesome.
I strongly suspect that had I had it removed seven years prior, when it was scheduled, this wouldn’t have happened. But seven years ago it was the day before my wedding and I, well, I forgot.
When I scheduled it, I forgot that it was the day before the wedding. The day before the wedding, I forgot I had scheduled it. So basically, I no showed surgery. Who does that?
So back to town in the afternoon for a consultation with the surgeon. Except the surgeon wasn’t there. He’d been called into surgery. Primary care instead.
She sent me to the lab for post op fun.
They drew the labs, but instead of sending me in for surgery, they relayed some of the most absurd information I got all week – the hospital was full.
The hospital was full?
Are you kidding me?
So they send me packing with some horse antibiotics, pain meds, and a host of other things. ‘Cause if the gallbladder ruptures, it can be fatal. The antibiotics should help.
So I went home to learn that my invoice had been routed to the wrong person. It would be over-nighted. Awesome. So there was no check in the mail, and the car loan holder had called. Insufficient funds. Of course.
Choke it down with the rest of the things I have no control over. Except that seems to be causing some vomiting. This is not going well.
Tuesday, another scheduled consult with the surgeon, and a few more cancelled clients. There may be no paycheck next week either, if this keeps up.
Labs came back. The reason it hurt bad enough to send me crawling into the fetal position is because it’s already infected. No surgery until I finish the round of antibiotics. Still on the restricted diet, but at least I get more meds. Yay?
Go home and work trying to get the new blog site up, since the old one crashed. The fourth time I installed WordPress, it worked. I did it exactly the same way, every time. But the first three were apparently for the amusement of the universe.
Started rebuilding the blog again and discovered a bunch of emails – Tweeps, Tribemates and Followers, asking what happened to Betty Crocker is the Devil. More emails asking where a post was than I’d ever received for comments on a single post. Awesome – I crashed on the post that would have gotten me more attention than any previous post.
That felt good.
That discovery came 3 minutes before a client call. It made me agitated enough to mispronounce the clients name. DEcchanich. D-E. That it not how I said it.
Incidentally,I know this part seems made up. The client’s name, I mean. But I am pretty sure my boss sends me clients with these names on purpose. I became so convinced of this that I sent her an email, calling her on it. She seemed to have no idea what I was talking about, so I sent her a list of just the names of the clients she sent me. It contained over thirty terms that could be construed as referring to either sex or genitalia.
Turns out it was just coincidence.
So I started the call off on the wrong foot. And about 20 minutes in, someone started knocking at the door. And they kept knocking. And knocking. And distracting me enough to bungle a bit more. It also freaked out the dog, but since I assumed that it was probably the weird neighbors who sometimes come over to visit the dog, I didn’t answer it.
I should have. An hour later, when I raced out the door to catch the store, I discovered the identity of the visitor.
Remember that dumpster I called about?
There it sat, smack in the middle of the driveway. Right behind the car.
Really? Right behind the car? The driveway is three cars wide.
I’m thinking that guy left it there just to be an ass.
It took two more days to get the paycheck. We finally managed to move the 10,000 pound dumpster the same day. The next morning I finally got the blog back online. With a tiny little blogroll, a painfully small following, I am back.
But I’m back, and I’ll make some new friends soon.