I called Possible Boy to invite him on a possible adventure. He didn't answer, and it turns out he was at work, but still, I called him. I'm fairly brave about that sort of call. I say awkward and stupid things and make a dork out of myself once on the call, but I make the call with little hesitation or ambivilance. I also need to call my health insurance company and make an appointment with a gynecologist (since I haven't gone in like five years and the brain doctors and I want me taking a progesterone-only version of The Pill). Nothing about my self-worth is contingent on these businessy calls, and yet I hesitate, procrastinate, and panic over Blue Cross Blue Sheild's customer service department far more than the boy who makes me feel uncontrollably squishy. What the fuck?
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Phone Anxiety: A Bad Connection
Another good day today! I'm counting my blessings and the number is getting up around 319.
I called Possible Boy to invite him on a possible adventure. He didn't answer, and it turns out he was at work, but still, I called him. I'm fairly brave about that sort of call. I say awkward and stupid things and make a dork out of myself once on the call, but I make the call with little hesitation or ambivilance. I also need to call my health insurance company and make an appointment with a gynecologist (since I haven't gone in like five years and the brain doctors and I want me taking a progesterone-only version of The Pill). Nothing about my self-worth is contingent on these businessy calls, and yet I hesitate, procrastinate, and panic over Blue Cross Blue Sheild's customer service department far more than the boy who makes me feel uncontrollably squishy. What the fuck?
I called Possible Boy to invite him on a possible adventure. He didn't answer, and it turns out he was at work, but still, I called him. I'm fairly brave about that sort of call. I say awkward and stupid things and make a dork out of myself once on the call, but I make the call with little hesitation or ambivilance. I also need to call my health insurance company and make an appointment with a gynecologist (since I haven't gone in like five years and the brain doctors and I want me taking a progesterone-only version of The Pill). Nothing about my self-worth is contingent on these businessy calls, and yet I hesitate, procrastinate, and panic over Blue Cross Blue Sheild's customer service department far more than the boy who makes me feel uncontrollably squishy. What the fuck?
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