It Could Always Be Worse

(This post was originally written for last week, but still applies 😊)

My door handle broke off again.

*sigh*

This post was going to be about the lost tin—and we’ll probably swing around to it—but I have to mention the door handle first. Because, seriously? Again, Georgie? I work full time and am heading to visit family this weekend, so I won’t be able to get it fixed until the following weekend at the earliest, and that’s if I’m sufficiently inconvenienced enough to get up early on a Saturday morning to deal with it. We’re talking middle-ish of March or so before I have a working car door handle. Back to climbing in through my passenger-side door and praying to GOD it’s not raining when I leave work.

Batman feels bad. He’s the one who yanked it off this time. Funny thing is, he was being extra gentle because I told him of the *fiasco at the vet, and he was trying to demonstrate how careful I need to be with Georgie (like I don’t know), and then he snatched the thing right off. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. People are being QUARANTINED for possible coronavirus, so I’m cool with a little extra exercise added to my transportation routine. It could always be worse.

It’s something I should’ve been saying for the last two weeks. I don’t know what’s specifically wrong with me other than *potent* impatience, but I have this incredible talent to freak out over nothing. I’d almost be proud, except it turns me into this monster where logic and sanity don’t exist. It’s one of the things I hate most about myself because I feel stupid and foolish after these outburts, especially when I realize I caused the majority of my own stress.

Anyway, long story short: I need to renew my driver’s license. It’s not something I care too much about, except I have to have it renewed by our honeymoon or else I won’t be able to board the plane. So, kind of important. Doing absolutely zero research, I headed to the DMV and waited. After getting turned away for not having the necessary items, I headed straight into my home office to get the tin that held my birth certificate, except it wasn’t where I left it. It wasn’t *anywhere*. After a mini-freak-out, I told Barman and we turned the place upside looking for it. We checked cabinets, drawers, under beds, closet nooks. It is NOWHERE. At this point, I honestly believe the house ate it. That, or we have some asshole gnome who has upped his thieving game from socks. Either way, once I realized I had to order my birth certificate online, I FREAKED OUT. I guess people do this all the time, but I never thought I would because I never thought I would lose it, because how do you lose a tin that holds all your important shit? (along with our expired passports and a creepy bag of old baby teeth). You don’t. Or, at least, I don’t. And I did.

Now that my order is being processed in the next ten to fifteen days, I can go back to the DMV (yay!) and not be shunned for only having my social security card. (I will have all required documents, thank you very much angry lady who dismissed me with disdain. DISDAIN.) Now that things are in motion, I realize how much stress I caused myself because of a few road bumps. It happens and it sucks, but it’s obviously not the end of the world, although it definitely feels like it in the heat of the moment.

Anyway, lesson for the day: it can always be worse. It’s something I will continue to tell myself every day as I manually unlock the passenger door, crawl in to open the driver’s side, and then walk around. And I will SHOUT it on the days when it’s raining. 😊

*Appa doesn’t like the vet. He was boarded there like a billion years ago for only a week, and every time we’ve been, he freaks out. Barking like he’s being beaten, like he’s under major attack. This is when literally only the receptionist is in the room. He does not like the vet. Period. Well, Batman had something in the morning and I was left to take our child to the vet alone. It’s fine, except Appa freaks out (as mentioned above) so one of us usually weighs him quickly and then heads outside while the other stays inside to pay. It’s a pretty good system, and we’ve got it down. But when there’s only one of us…it makes this difficult.

So, after battling him into the vet, trying to communicate with the receptionist about what we needed, keeping him calm enough to sit on the scale and by my side when I paid, and back out of the vet, we headed out to Georgie and that’s when I pulled her door handle right off. During the end his panic attack. Perfect timing.