At Home With Me: February 2009

One of the ways that I uphold my fragile sense of organization is by keeping lists. I have lists for things I need to do (pick up dry cleaning), need to buy (dog food), want to buy (area rug for family room), need to do soon (get tax stuff together), need to look into for the future (summer camp for kids), and the list of lists goes on…

I have no problem making lists. The problem I have is in getting anything from those lists accomplished. You see sometimes, a single item on the To Do list requires a complicated series of other To Do’s - which can make completing a simple task exhausting. Take, for example, item #4 from my current To Do list: “Get prescription filled.” Sounds simple, right? In actuality, getting the prescription filled requires calling the doctor’s office to ask them to write the prescription, wait appropriate time for request to be filled, drive to the doctor’s office to pick up prescription, sign forms saying that I am picking up the script, take script to pharmacy, return to pick up prescription after appropriate waiting time, find out that the pharmacy was actually out of that medication, then make faces at pharmacy staff person when I am asked if I would like to take my prescription to the pharmacy across town to see if they can fill it there and then FINALLY pick up the prescription. And so, “get prescription filled” takes three days.

So, it was no surprise to me today that I wasted a LOT of time trying to tackle item #1: “Make Insurance Claim.” When I was rear-ended two weeks ago resulting in some scratches to my bumper, I naively thought that I would simply just call my insurance agent and give him the information and he would make it all better. I was also naïve to believe that the guy who hit me had given me the correct information I needed to file the claim. You know where this is going, right? After three phone calls with my insurance agent, four different conversations with the guy’s “alleged” insurance company, two conversations with a police officer (not to mention the three calls it took to get to the officer I needed), one Google search, one Whitepages.com search and one “What the hell, let’s try Facebook” search, it has been determined that the man who hit my car does not actually exist. Neither does his car. Nor does his insurance policy. In fact, the only proof I have that incident even occurred are the scratches to my rear fender and to my pride. It has taken many steps and about two hours to learn the hard lesson of ALWAYS get a police report. And I still can’t cross out #1 from my To Do list. Sigh…

The other way that I uphold my fragile sense of organization is to not let my dishes pile up. It’s a simple thing, really. Each day, if I am only going to accomplish one household chore, I at least reboot the dishwasher. The clean dishes get put away, the dirty ones go into the machine - you know how it works. The empty sink and clear counters give the illusion of a clean kitchen, even for just a few moments out of the day. You know where this is going, right? Last night, I loaded the dishes, filled the soap dispenser, and turned the dial. After a few moments, there was a loud, awful grinding sound - the sound of money about to be spent on fixing or replacing a major appliance.

So, as I sit here in my kitchen full of dirty dishes considering taking another mental vacation, I will instead move “Call Repair Guy” to the #1 spot on my To Do List. I better rest up for that one.