But it’s not the actual situations that fatigue me. Things break down all the time. There are always bills to pay. I’m not one to expect smooth sailing. And while I’m not altogether stressed about the actual situations themselves, as I believe that ultimately they will be repaired, I must be honest and say that I awoke feeling low this morning over the prospect of the time it takes to remedy situations such as these.
I’m straight-up done putting any more energy into the car and Humana.
See, what is wearing me down is the time I’ve already given and will have to continue to give to these issues.
Waiting an hour for a tow. Getting the car home. Getting the car towed back to our mechanic on Monday morning. Reworking Harper’s ride for school on Monday. Figuring out how I am to get to work, and Zane to school, on Monday since George needs to be on a train at 7:00 AM to head downtown for his ordination class. Finding a replacement vehicle (although, props to Angie, who has offered me a car). It’s the mental gymnastics that I have come to abhor. The mental gymnastics that I must endure due to someone else’s mistake . . . yeah, I know, that sounds really self-centered. But, it’s true.
The car was not repaired correctly back in July. That was 6 months ago. Humana has been jacking me around since February. February. You do the math.
It’s the phone calls to Humana (that average 45 minutes a call) in the middle of the day – at least once a week, each time receiving different and contradictory reasons as to why my claims are denied every time I call. No wonder we mothers also give birth to the ability to multitask when we deliver children into the world. Do you really think we wear those telephone headsets around the house to look cool or because we secretly harbor the desire to look like Madonna in concert? No, we wear them so that we can actually prep dinner, put laundry away, and straighten a bathroom, all while staying on hold with Humana.
It’s hard when you feel that your time is being taken from you . . . sure, I understand that we all waste time. I am a huge time-waster. But, with these situations I feel as if my time is being taken from me and I have no choice but to continue fighting back. And I’m tired of fighting back. I just want to move on.
We’re home bound today and the kids are doing marvelously. Thankfully. They spent the morning playing Star Wars – not on Wii – no, they actually played Star Wars. Harper was Darth Vader. Zane, Bobafett. A snip-it of the dialogue went something like this:
“Bring me Obi One and the young Luke Skywalker. I want them brought back here alive!”
“Don’t interrupt me! Find the droids and kill them, but bring me the jet pack (?). Also, Jabba. I want him brought here alive.”
Zane did as he was told and I found him in the family room attempting to lift an imaginary Jabba to bring back to Lord Vader. He was grunting. Jabba is quite large. And slimy.
They also played Peter Pan.
They are being rewarded with The Empire Strikes Back.
I did a Peapod Order. If I’m able to get a car today then I can always cancel it and run to the store. However, it is nice to think about someone delivering my groceries to me before 8:00 am tomorrow morning, even with the added expense. An expense we don’t have. No, it’s not the cheapest choice. But it is a time saver to be sure.
And right now, I want my time.