Welcome to the new ChicagoNow, welcome to my own private Idaho.

If you are reading this, it means that I did something right.  It also means that you did something right, too, as my stuff is the shizz.  But trust me when I say I do not know what in the hell I am doing.  Good Lord, when did writing a blog about mothering turn into an ordeal of epic proportions?  A technological odyssey?  A panic attack stretched out over three months, roughly the lead time we had to learn our new operating system?  Melodramatic?  Perhaps, but I’m allowed, as it’s my blog. 

One of my facebook friends recently posed the question:  What are you most capable of?  Hard core procrastination was my answer.  Word.  I procrastinate with the freaking best of them.  My procrastination is legendary.  Seriously.  Ask Mr. Mary Tyler Mom.  And yet, somehow, I survive.  Mary Tyler Son gets clothed and fed every day.  Bills get paid.  Laundry gets done.  Dinner gets cooked.  I am a responsible citizen who uses avoidance to not deal with the stuff that either:  a) annoys me; b) scares me; or c) I simply forget due to my also legendary lack of organization. 

Learning this new operating system for ChicagoNow falls under the categories of a), b) and c).  Yes, while I love Mary Tyler Mom, I am annoyed that since her creation in January I’ve had to learn three new operating systems just to give her a voice.  Mr. Mary Tyler Mom is annoyed by my tendency to frustrate so easily at all things tech related, so me learning three new systems has been challenging.  Which directly leads to b).  Technology scares me.  It’s cool and all, but my brain is just not wired to tackle it easily.  It intimidates me.  And every month when I go to the bank to pay my credit card bill (because of the aforementioned procrastination) and the teller cheerfully informs me that I can automatically pay online, I kind of want to hurt her.  And the passwords.  Egads!  Who on earth can remember all of the passwords and strange machinations programmers develop on an all too regular basis to make them more “secure.”  For me, passwords are the ultimate child proof lid.  That leads to c).  When something annoys and scares me, but I know it must be dealt with, I keep it on the back burner, simmering slowly.  These are the niggling to dos that I must do, will do, but not without some drama to make them interesting.  Sigh.  I exhaust myself. 

So here I am and here you are.  Welcome to my panic attack.  Hope you enjoy your stay.

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