*flop* Who has two thumbs, social anxiety, an annoying mistrust of authority figures, severely under-diagnosed neroatypicality, and a sudden need to go to the DMV because their driver’s license apparently expired last week?
*points thumbs at self* This guy.
It started on Friday when I tried to pull fifty bucks out of the joint savings account I share with my mother. It’s my money, from selling my old place, which is a stress inducing tale I’ll tell some day if you buy me some whiskey and have a couple of hours to burn. Anyway, I found some boots on a not entirely sketchy Facebook buy/sell group that could work for costuming. So I went to the bank I’d really rather never give my money to but is the most convenient to use (*sigh*), waited in line, handed over my license, filled out the paperwork to withdraw money, literally everything up to the ‘I’ve credited the account here is your money thanks for doing business with us’, and…
‘Do you have another form of ID? Your license expired two days ago.’
Anxiety level: 5
Oops. Turns out your license turns into a fucking rotted pumpkin at midnight after your birthday. Who knew? The lady behind the counter, apparently, only she waited until the end of the process before telling me about it. You couldn’t have led off with that? Come on.
So I left, went to the grocery store, bought some potato salad, got cash, drove to this lady’s house, bought a pair of brand new maybe not stolen boots but how would I know, and went about my weekend, with ambient anxiety level of 2 every time I got in the car.
Did I mention my mistrust of authority figures? Gosh, I just love getting pulled over! Thankfully, that never happened, but I got to drive around all weekend technically illegally because the state of Montana is a butt.
I’m a procrastinator. If anyone ever got around to making a club for procrastinators (see what I did there gosh I’m hilarious) I’d be voted in as a board member. I’ve been in Arizona about eleven months and still hadn’t updated anything. Well, good thing I was thinking about finally getting an updated license.
My mother, the eternal packrat of useful things, still has my original birth certificate. Like, the first one she ever got. She’s a sentimental old broad, it’s in with a bunch of other shit like my GED, certificates for various achievements, immunization records (vaccinate your effin kids, folks), and some goofy shit seven year old kids who are visiting their father mail to their mother.
What were we talking about? Oh, right. The DMV. Attention span of a fruit fly.
I went in this morning. I wanted to get a number, but I guess in Arizona you have to wait in line to do that. I don’t get it, but okay. I handed over the expired license, TOTALLY PRETENDING I DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT IT, and the dude barely mentioned it. Ha ha oops wow that’s good I came by ha ha play it cool, idiot.
Anxiety level: 3
Got my mug shot taken, filled out some paperwork, waited. Sometimes it’s hard not to stim. I didn’t bring my fidget thingy and rocking or flapping my hands on a government office really doesn’t seem like a great thing to do, so I played The Good Neurotypical and sat still. Ugh.
Got my number called, sat down, handed over all my shit, the lady at the desk commented about the license expiration, my anxiety level creeped up, and I did some active grounding. Both feet on the floor, uncrossed, energy out through the right foot and energy in through the left. Out with the anxiety and let the earth absorb and transform it, draw in clean energy. Waiting sucks when they’re poking at computers and checking filed and paperwork and all you can do is just sit there and try not to snark.
Next thing I know, I’m down $25 (okay, more like $28 because Uncle Sam is a dick) and I have a crappy temp license until the real one shows up in a couple weeks. I got out before they changed their minds and drove straight to the quilt store because surviving an encounter with the DMV Miniboss deserves a reward and it’s too early for booze.
Bought me a neat pattern for a 2′ wall hanging type thing, accent and backing fabric. I already had 2.5″ mini charm packs for the pattern itself. Drove home, showed my mom the goods, fondled fabric squares, ate some pizza, and generally celebrated surviving going to the DMV without losing my marbles.