Why Do I Dread The Post Office?

On my list of things to do today (grab a cup of tea, this is going to be captivating) I had:

mailing boots to Jeanne
mailing book to Amy
mailing letter to Betty
calling to make doctor appointment
calling to check to see if a lab slip is still valid to use
find that lab slip
(sift through hundreds of pieces of paper in three locations including the attic to find that lab slip)
calling Stephanie about that thing I was supposed to help her with two months ago
mailing school pictures to mother in law, long overdue

So I went to the gym.
I didn't want to do that either but lifting weights and 20 minutes of level 2 hills on the eliptical seemed less formidable.

I have to believe that other people have things on their list they dread doing and I'm not talking about chopping wood, carrying water, digging wells, walking nine miles to the market and home again with large baskets on their heads. I'm talking about writing a short note to a lovely lady who wrote me a lovely note months ago. And why does going to mail something at the post office fill me with so much dread that I refuse to even think about it until I literally have to march myself there with a gun at my temple? (I did. I had my son's Nerf gun, marching down the street.) And a letter is bad enough but mailing something that requires a box? Downright vapor-locking.

Today I was throwing some old children's boots into a box for my great nephew - a new post office box that we already had available in our home! - and it's something I've been avoiding it for weeks. It's as if there were a black mamba in the basement guarding the boots, a brown recluse in the mailing box waiting to bite me, a terrorist at the post office threatening to - well, no it's not quite that bad but it is ridiculous. Then I skip into the post office and back out again and think what is my prob-lem??? Then I'm filled with so much pride that I actually accomplished that mission that I want to drive around the block and get myself a latte to celebrate. I didn't do that today, but I admit, I did send this text to Amy afterward in my van: Mission accomplished.

Shew. It's a good thing the world has me, doin' all these brave deeds, holdin' it up.

And calling to make a doctor's appointment, I mean, what in the world is the big deal - it took me three minutes! The lady on the other end was quite pleasant and she gave me an appointment without requiring any strange unavailable information that might send me searching in file cabinets, like the name of the doctor who removed my plantar warts in second grade or the number of times I went to the student health center in college. A few numbers read off my insurance card, a birthdate or two and voila, I'm going to the doctor's in February, it's that easy folks.

I must admit here that I have not yet called Stephanie about that thing, nor have I called about the lab slip but these are things I will tackle tomorrow when I get my strength back.

Now, please do tell. You dread anything?