Lessons learned over two insane weeks

I've been subconsciously writing blog posts in my head for the past few weeks. Normally, the thought of adding another post to my collection of blogs would make me rather giddy, but I have not been able to transfer my thoughts into words other people will understand because I either ran out of time or was in desperate need of some non-thinking time (hence the Harry Potter movie marathon I had last week).

Still, it feels oddly liberating to not have the time to do something I love doing. That is usually an indicator that your life is full. Such as when you take on a load of new responsibilities at work, get stranded in various places because your car won't start, and have to pack up for yet another move.

The past couple of weeks have sent my stress-o-meter to levels it hasn't reached since college. I could easily push out several blog posts on things I've thought about over the past few weeks, but I'm going to have to settle for the Reader's Digest version:

• If someone dumps a huge project on you, the best way to get it done is to do things your way.
• That moment when the light pops on makes all the stress, worry, and anxiety worth it.
• Similarly, it is necessary to cross the Valley of Death to make it to the Happy, Delirious Land of Rainbows and Unicorns.
• It is much easier to accomplish a difficult task if you know you can do it.
• When people say they are more than happy to help, they actually mean it.
• Comcast online customer service is obnoxious. Think of that nice lady who is sugary-sweet on the outside and viperously poisonous on the inside. And who can't spell.
• If you tell someone that they can move into an apartment on a certain day, it might be a good idea to inform your staff that that someone is moving into the apartment on that day. That way that person won't have to move into an apartment while the kitchen and bathroom are still a mess.
• "The Stinkhole" isn't an adequate name for my old apartment. "The Pits of Mordor" would be more accurate.
• I completely suck at using my womanly wiles to get the guys at the car shop to give me good deals.

Life noticed that I was finally a lone, independent woman and decided to play one of its cruel, ironic tricks on me: force me to rely on others. My co-workers had to lug me around for a few days, my family had to come up and help me haul furniture across the parking lot yet again, and some other co-workers had to endure a lot of dumb questions from me.

I hate asking for help more than . . . pretty much everything. I would rather do everything myself, suffer in silence, be perpetually confused, or remain ignorant than ask someone a simple question or favor. If I could have started my car on my own, I would have; if I could have gotten my Harry Potter wand to work and pack and shrink all my belongings for me, I would have; and if I could gain knowledge without working for it, I would be the most brilliant person in the universe.

But life chose this time to remind me that life is not meant to be a solo activity. The weirdest thing of all is that all the people I had to rely on the past few weeks didn't mind at all. Some of my helpers even seemed excited, as if I had given them a delightful treat when I asked for their help. I think I need to take a leaf out of that book.