Once several personal items stack themselves upon each other, one little inconsequential thing will create in me a monumental setback.
Lightbulbs. This time it was lightbulbs.
Still not back in the swing of brick and mortar shopping, I place orders online and go to pick them up. Sometimes items are deemed unavailable for pickup and move to the shipping status.
Thus the lightbulbs arrived via delivery to the house. Plainly marked on the box – pictures of lightbulbs across the front and back – it was obvious what was being delivered.
My dad reported that he had arrived at the door to meet the delivery person, as he has the prime perch to see what happens out the front of our home. Just as he opened the door he witnessed that the driver stood 10′ from the porch and launched the box, delivering it by air mail to the porch.
What the absolute fuck?!?!
My genuine optimism, my faith in the combined struggles and overall goodness of people was blasted by this one asshole who made an intentional act of destruction at my front door.
Now, every inconvenience, insult and putdown that I’ve stuffed and dealt with has been pulled out for inspection, infusing me with smallness and weakness and… depression.
I’ll suck it up and get back to doing the most awesome best I can with the hand that’s been dealt…
First step should obviously be to contact the delivery service and complain, then return the box… but I’m paralyzed by the feelings, the reluctance to make confrontation when I feel this overwhelming underwhelm. So the unopened box sits at the receiving table near the front door to accuse me of my inabilities to deal with life.
Setback, the box of setback.