Overwhelmed by Minutiae
A fully-cooked John Kelly here again, subbing again for Raw Fisher....
For the past two months there has been a yellow Post-It note stuck to the mirror above my dresser. It bears these cryptic markings:
I know what these digits mean, I just don't know when I'll get around to doing anything about them.
The numbers show how much I paid for my cholesterol medication. It jumped from 40 bucks per bottle in November and December to $56.50 every month since then. Add up the increase, multiply by 12 and that's close to $200 a year.
I don't understand why this would have happened. Aren't prescription drug prices supposed to go down? I can think of a lot of things I could spend that 200 bucks on. The Post-It note is there to remind me to do something about this. But have I called my insurance company to give them hell? No.
The reason is, I'm just too damn busy. I'm so busy living my life that I seem increasingly incapable of performing the little chores that actually constitute my life. In the garage are three boxes of books I need to donate to the library. In the basement is a book case I need to assemble (to hold the books I'm not donating to the library). On nearly every horizontal surface in the house are piles of mail of varying levels of urgency. Every time I brush my teeth I remember I should really make a dentist appointment. I consider it a great triumph that I finally got hair--which was starting to get caught in revolving doors--cut earlier this week.
What is wrong with me? I seem to be able to function with a sort of base level competency: feeding and clothing myself, putting gas in the minivan. But encountering any deviation, any complication, no matter how slight, flummoxes me. I write it on a Post-It yet never get around to dealing with it.
Of course, it's all minutiae. That's the bitter truth, and as drudgeryesque (drudgeryesque) as these tasks are, I really need to address them. And I will. Soon. I promise.
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