Anxiety Bombs

Why am I so mad?

I have asked myself this question for years now. A week ago, I was trying to confirm where to send money to pay for our new electric range and overhead microwave oven / exhaust fan.

I know where I purchased these products. I put the total on my store credit card. The tricky part is, that at the time, I didn’t have the actual card. I had an old bill from 2021. In between now and then, I have had two different accounts with same store. I wasn’t clear which card was active. The salesperson was most helpful and determined which account had been closed and which was open. So the entire balance of the purchase went on this account.

Concurrent to this episode of Home Improvement, the front of our building, including the critical front door entrance, has been under siege of remedial construction for repair of our building’s water main. Long story, but the salient point here is that our mail has been redirected to a post office, where we physically have to pick it up. Last week, I picked it up and there was a letter from said store of appliances and garden furniture, saying my application for credit (?) was not accepted, as I cannot have multiple accounts.

And yet, I did have multiple accounts.

The question nagging me is “Where do I send the money?”

With the exception of our mortgage, I pay all my cards off every month. This store offers credit for 18 months with zero interest. I would have to be a special kind of stupid to not want to use their money to prolong the payment cycle. Except now, I am confused as to where to send the money.

So I began one of my “searches for documents.”

Searches for documents automatically releases the Anxiety Bomb. I methodically go through the various places I could have put them for safekeeping. You know, the places we put things so they do not get lost. The kind of place that you will never forget.

Any fool knows that these elusive places where you can always find things is an ever growing horn of the unicorn. They exist. We have heard of them, we have even seen them- but then they disappear. Which causes one to look ever more frantically, and commit the cardinal sin in marriage of asking your partner if they knew where something might be.

Look. I know this is a rookie mistake, and clearly, I am not a rookie. More of a husk. I am a “ special kind of stupid”. Yes, there is a song forthcoming. Sort of an answer song to any number of the songs I have written which extol and invent upon my greatness, flexing my ego unbound. The answer song Stupid, is a sad calling out of my deficiencies, anxiety being the never healing hang nail.

After about a half hour of looking, right before consuming a wonderful home cooked meal made by my loving partner, my anxiety is now elevated to full bloom toxic.

In the end, of course I found what I was looking for. As is most cases, it was right beneath my nose, which happens to be one the best hiding places. No one ever looks there.

Never underestimate the obvious.