It's Time Yet

Every day at our house - at around 5:30 a.m. and 5:30 p.m. - we play a game of "Is it time yet?!?" Bartlet starts whining for his 6:00 feeding - and I do mean WHINING - and Gary and I constantly, and partially unconsciously repeat, "It's not time yet!" But then, when that glorious moment comes 5:59:59, exasperated, one of us will say, "Hey Bartlet, it's time yet!"
The last 6 months - since The Incident that broke my foot and shattered my independence - we have adjusted everything in our regular routines to accomodate me and my foot. Before then, I had always been fiercely independent - almost to a fault. Just this morning I spent a lot of time in deep thought trying to figure out what has been worse, not being able to walk, or not being able to drive. I decided that it's not being able to drive. But then, as the day went on, I realized those weren't the only options.
For several weeks, if not more, I've had an incredible amount of anxiety. My lists of things to do - and I make several each day - are more than I can stand to look at. Many days I don't even take them out of my bag. Today, as the post-it notes and scribble-dy scratch stacked up on my desk I realized it has nothing to do with walking or driving, it's my general inability to get stuff done.
Those of you who know me well know this is nothing new. I go through stages where I'm productive and then entirely not productive. And what would make me more non-productive than not being able to walk or drive?!? For me, it's the perfect excuse to do nothing, and to complain about nothing getting done.
I realized today it's far worse for me to not go to the dentist/allergist/endocrinologist/Social Security Office/DMV than it is for me to ask for help. So I put my tail between my legs, made calls, and made appointments. More importantly, I stopped whining in my head, and I asked for help. Because - after 6 months - it's time yet.