boxes

I need to get back to the Post Office today at a certain time.

The time is….earlier.

I need to BLAZE.

BLAZE….but extremely safely.

Last night, I was dreaming about boxes.

That’s the trouble….the will may be there, but I’m hobbled sometimes by a lack of space.

If I had a big van with unlimited cargo area, I could haul everything….but my Cherokee only hauls so much and then I have to worry about things a little. (Read this in the whiniest inflection imaginable.)

Handling the overflow is weird now that we deliver out of a town that’s miles away from our┬ádelivery zone.

So….I dream about boxes…piles and piles of huge boxes. I dream that I can’t even see my case for all the boxes. I dream that I can’t fit two of the big boxes in my Jeep at all. I dream that I can’t get my mail and the boxes to fit at the same time. I dream that I shuttle and shuttle and deliver and deliver….and it’s getting dark….and I’m missing my cutoff point….and….

All because of these boxes.

These hypothetical dream boxes.

Worry is a funny thing.

I worry about the worst scenario….and my imagination is strong enough that I can conjure all sorts of possible disasters.

Funny. Strange.

THAT’S HOW I ROLL, THOUGH!!! A CATCHER IN THE RYE IN AN AREA THAT ISN’T KNOWN FOR PLANTING GRAIN.

What the heck….I’ll make it.

If I’m dragging a suitcase of angst behind me, I’ll just drag a little faster….pull a little harder.

No matter how much easier it would be if I put all my worries in an old kit bag….(and SMILE, SMILE, SMILE)….I will make it.

Except for all this worrying, I’ve got it MAJOR EASY!!!

Stupid boxes.

 

About Peter Rorvig

I'm a non-practicing artist, a mailman, a husband, a father...not listed in order of importance. I believe that things can always get better....and that things are usually better than we think.

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