We are in the process of moving. I have decided I am completely incompetent at this.
How I pictured this move in my mind.
How this move is happening IRL.
Dead. Fail. I can't go on.
See that sad little lamp in the background? That's exactly how I feel. Tucked away in a corner. Trying to hide from this chaos. Off kilter. I feel ya, little lamp. You just can't go on like this, can you little buddy? Me neither.
I've had approximately 3.427 zillion talks about how this is all going to work with myself, and this is a pretty accurate description for how those talks go:
Self to self: "Hey let's go all Monica Gellar with this situation. Let's pull out the label maker, color code everything, and dazzle your husband with your brilliance here. He will be SO IMPRESSED that you've organized something FOR ONCE in your marriage."
Self back to self: "Let's not."
Self to self: "You've got this. Drink enough coffee and you can conquer anything."
Self back to self: "Nah, you're good. Drink enough wine so you just don't care."
Self to self: "But really. Do all your stressing now so that moving day will be a cakewalk."
Self back to self: "YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! LA LA LA LA LA [poking fingers in ears] I really just want to write about feelings and watch Netflix."
So since I'm so inept with this move, I wanted to talk about all the other stuff I'm really terrible at. I'm not talking weird stuff like basket weaving or competitive bowling or training a troop of animals to sing and clean with me like Disney princesses. I'm talking about things that every other human seems to ace in their every day lives that I miserably fail at. I'll tell you what I'm really awful at, then you can tell me what you're really awful at. That sounds a whole heck-of-a-lot more fun than comparing our greatness like we do on social media, yes? Yes. Let's.
I can't walk on flat ground.
Really. I can't. You might think this is something an average human masters during their first or second year of life, but I've never mastered it. I can't tell you how many coffee stains I've scrubbed from my clothes as a result of tripping on air and dumping the contents of my travel mug on myself. Zero motor skills. Zero. Don't get me started on stairs.
I can't live without coffee.
If someone were to ask me 'coffee or food'? As much as it would pain me to think about a world without buffalo wings or tacos, I would say coffee. Without coffee, I can't anything. I can't do anything. I can't think of anything. I can't feel anything. I just cannot. Me without coffee typically means me without matching shoes. Me with no coffee may mean I may show up to an important function with no pants. America may run on Dunkin', but Sara runs on Costco's finest blend.
I can't keep my house clean.
You don't know my life. I live with savage beasts. I'm always amazed at the places pee can hide when cleaning a bathroom that men, boys, or tiny male toddlers use. Crusty socks have taken over my life and my floors. I know you'll send me your Pinterest board of chore wheels. "It's easier because everyone does their share" you say. But it doesn't matter what system you use, I'm confident in stating that we cannot do it. We will reach masterful levels of sabotage and failure EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. It doesn't matter how "idiot proof" your system is, I assure you, you have found idiots who can't crack your code.
I can't listen to my voicemails.
Or emails. Or anything. I often get texts from friends that say "SARA. COME ON! YOUR VOICEMAIL IS FULL AGAIN?! I LOVE YOU BUT LOVE HAS LIMITS." If you want to get in touch with me, your chances are better with smoke signals, a fax to a fax machine I don't have, morse code, or sending a pigeon. I will not and cannot listen to anything you communicate with me in voicemails. It's goes against all my DNA, and my religion.
This is actually a really good day in terms of voicemails and emails. Seriously. Top notch. I don't know how I have any friends at all.
I can't run updates.
iOS version 97.4 when I seriously JUST downloaded 97.3?! Nope. I know we're only on version 9 point something, but just like a year is like seven to a dog, one update is like 10 point something to me. Can't do it. I will hit "remind me later" but what I really mean is GO AWAY!
I can't eat without spilling.
You know how people always say "that's why I never wear white"? I wish that worked for me. There's literally no color shirt I can wear that masks the evidence of what I've consumed in the last few hours. I should own stock in Shout, or at least be the spokesperson in their commercials. I will always walk around looking like a Jackson Pollock mural of buffalo sauce, chocolate, and toothpaste, which can often resemble the victim on an episode of CSI.
I can't plan ahead.
I try. I really do. And I HATE being late. So when the queen of "let's just wing it" and "oh hey, I found something more fun to do while I procrastinate on this practical thing I should be doing" meet with "DON'T MAKE ME LATE!"…. Houston, we have a bit of a problem. 90% of my life is daydreaming, creating ideas-for-later, lounging, reading, mindlessly watching TV, the other 10 is pure panic. I'm always paying for overnight shipping because I "forgot" to order that thing. I scramble. I curse myself. I cry. A few weeks out, I plan out well-intentioned moves I should be making for that big project. A week before I say to myself 'gosh, I'm tragically far behind I really should get on that'….and half an hour before, I'm rushing through the shower praying for hair that dries quickly and no traffic on the way to wherever I'm going. This system works for me. It's amazing what I can accomplish in a panic.
I can't return things.
Reads return policy on really ugly dress I had to buy online: you have 30 days for a refund and 60 days for store credit. On day 61, well, I guess we're stuck together forever now. I'm sure we could send our child to college for two years with what we've paid in library fines and Redbox late fees over the years.
I can't do school fundraisers.
I don't care if the nice, charismatic, fundraising fairy promised you a unicorn ride to Legoland with the cast of Star Wars and a light saber made of hope and dreams, my dear child. This fundraising sheet for stale popcorn is going right in the trash. #sorrynotsorry But do tell me who to make the check out to if we need new computers or whatever.
I can't fold my clothes as soon as the dryer finishes.
Why yes, super fancy dryer I convinced myself would make me love doing laundry, I will keep running a "steam fluff" cycle…. FOREVER.
What say you? What are the things that every other human seems to conquer that end up conquering you? What do you fail miserably at?