For someone who is so Type A, I strangely hate making appointments.

Sure, I can make plans – and usually do (the volume of places to be and people to see on my calendar is enough to frighten most people). However, appointments? Hate them.

Mostly (I think) because I’m at the mercy of someone else’s calendar, which usually doesn’t mesh that well with mine. These things also invariably take much longer than the allotted appointment time. And time is one thing I don’t have to spare.

A list of people I currently need to see:
-The Mechanic (scheduled for tomorrow, rendering me transportation-less for the day – I’m ready to have a panic attack over it all)
-The Doctor
-The Dentist
-The Massage Therapist
-The Hairdresser

Also, people who are likely kindof peeved that despite my newfound mobility, I’ve still been too damn busy to see:
-The Parents
-The Grandparents
-The Brothers
-Too many friends to count

And while I love and miss everyone – I have to say sorry, but if you want to ensure that you actually get to see me, you have to accept that spontaneity has gone right out the window.

I have no choice but to resort to those words I hate: Call me and Make an Appointment.

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