Well, it was, until I realised that putting the washer on for two and a half hours at a time, starting at 9:30am, would not get eight loads of washing done by the time we need to eat dinner. (I started the day folding-as-I-went. That lasted two loads.) I started washing on quick-wash which takes less than 3/4 of an hour. Yes, I've cracked it! ... Until I
I could tell Brenda about the laundry being behind. She is lovely and it's just technology and these things happen to everybody at some point. It's how I handled being overwhelmed that I'm not sure of.
I... put my head in the cupboard. There, I said it. I want to take it back but I won't.
I opened both doors to one of the kitchen cupboards, I leaned my head forward and (partially) closed the doors behind me. Behind my ears, so I couldn't hear as much. Where it's slightly darker, slightly cooler, just overall less stimulating.
Then my mind fast forwarded a year or so until the first time Pete catches me doing this. He loves me. (And he knows he's never met anyone like me before, but he also knows me. Knows me. He gets me.) So he wouldn't judge me for hiding in the cupboard. Or building a den in the bottom of the closet. Or moving the sofa forward and sitting behind it on the floor. Or whatever the next thing is.
Then I thought how I'd feel if it was Brenda instead. Suddenly that feels a lot more vulnerable.
I reiterate, she is lovely. But I video chat with her once a month, once every two months, that kind of time frame. I video chat with Pete every day and it isn't enough. Annnd... I'm not marrying Brenda. I'm marrying Pete.
This plan suddenly seems a lot more fragile than it did before.