For reasons too complicated to illuminate here, I traded cars with someone for 24 hours. No big deal, right? Oh, when will you learn that it's ALL a big deal in my world.
Switching cars is on par with trading bathrooms. Yes, yes, they both have the usual necessary fixtures, but when you trade you have to pack all the pertinent things from yours and move it to theirs. Which is complicated. For instance, you pack your toothbrush and toothpaste and call it good, but then what if you need an emergency tweezing or filing or toenail whitening? And you didn't think to bring your tweezers, file or toenail whitener? There are things that are just THERE, so if we need them, we can find them without having to think about it.
This is not to say that I keep toenail whitener in my car. But I do carry pretty much everything else. And so it was hard to gather the essentials. Off-putting, as it turns out.
This afternoon I had a grillion things to do, some in my car, some in the not-my-car. I liked driving the car that wasn't mine. It had all kinds of tempting features and I sort of didn't want to give it up. But then I had an unrelated anxiety attack in the afternoon which Chris attributed to not having my own car. I think he's right, mostly because it makes very little sense and that's how I roll.
So one minute I'm having a perfectly fine and lovely time at a Wild Care benefit and the next minute I realize I have grossly underestimated the time I need to get to points a, b & c. And I lose my marbles. Moving back into my own car makes my head spin as I consider the inevitability of things left behind. First I thought I had left my purse, and then half an hour later I'm howling "I'VE LEFT MY CELL PHONE!!! Nooooooo!!!!" And I also couldn't wrap my head around how to get from here to there, in what order, and with what accessories. And people kept talking to me about unrelated things and I'm sure they were saying to themselves "why are her eyes spinning around like pinwheels?"
I like to think of myself as a fairly calm and reasonable person. I know my children will not agree, but what do they know? I can pretty much roll with the punches and make decisions on the fly. I have no idea what happened to my coping skills.
I did finally make it to point c, by way of b and a. I arrived there 20 minutes early instead of 10 minutes late because I had written down the time wrong. That gave me 20 minutes to write dozens of "sorry for the freak out" texts - which given how fast I text, was barely enough time, but I was in my own car so it was okay.