She's come undone

I have no idea how much is hormones, how much is wedding stress, and how much is just me being a sinner and falling prey to sinful worry, but I am seriously coming apart at the seams. 

Last night, the post office was supposed to deliver the balance of our invitations.  (We'd uploaded addresses for the first batch and had the printers address and mail them, but ordered another batch to be sent to us so we could address them as the 'no' rsvps opened up more spots.)  But of course, they didn't actually deliver them.  (This is unusual--usually the post office is fine with leaving packages on the step.  It's UPS that has a weird phobia of my pristine and totally non-threatening neighborhood.)  When I checked the tracking info today, I was informed that they'd 'attempted' delivery, but were unsuccessful, and so left a notice.  Except there was no notice.  So the post office website's instructions to pick up my package from the post office listed on the notice was not terribly helpful.  So I called the post office 800 number.  After a series of automated responses, I got a live person who told me where I could pick up my package.  So I ducked out of the office to pick it up on my lunch hour.

Of course there was like a 10 minute wait for the metro.  And then another 10 minute walk to the post office from the metro.  And then a long line.  While I was waiting in line, I got this funny feeling . . . and started wondering if maybe this wasn't the right post office.  See, I live in one quadrant of the district, and this post office was in an adjacent quadrant.  Since I was stuck waiting in line anyway, I decided to call the 800 number again and double check that I was in the right place (rather than waiting in line for half an hour only to discover that I'd been misinformed).  And yeah.  I'd been misinformed.  My package was actually at the post office in my quadrant.  Like a block from my house.  There was no metro line between the two post offices, so I headed over on foot.  Another 20 minute walk.  Then a 15 minute wait in line.  (Why not just go Saturday, you ask?  Because the lines on Saturday are insane, and I have breakfast and bible study and wedding flowers and engagement pictures and all sort of craziness tomorrow.  That's why.) 

I had another scare when I got to the counter . . . the lady told me that the other post office was indeed my post office, but that the package might be at this one.  Which it was.  Thank God.  Because by this time, I'd spent more than an hour and a half on this errand, and still had to get back to the office (another 30 minute walk/metro ride--I ended up cabbing it to save time). 

So I got the package.  But I have been fighting tears for the past hour.  And I just . . . I don't know how much more of this I can handle.  Because I can't seem to handle . . . anything.  It feels like my sense of humor is broken.  Everything's a tragedy, everything's annoying, everything is the end of the world.  I just want to lay my head down on my desk and cry.  And over what?  A mistake by a postal employee?  Yes, because that's something to write home about.  It happens all the time.  I know it happens all the time. 

I just feel so overwhelmed.  All the time.  I feel pulled in a million directions and I don't know what to do. 

As the HTB said the other day:  We're never getting divorced, because the idea of doing all this again . . . well, that's the stuff nightmares are made of.  God only knows why anyone would want to do this again.