A parcel pick up seems like a simple task on a normal day. today however, was no ordinary day. It was an ordinary day where I got a little upset after I felt a little disrespected. I was frustrated, antsy, and just needed some air and  something to focus my mind on. I looked down at the floor in the doorway and saw an Australia Post card that was left saying I had a parcel to pick up from the post office. Then it all started to go wrong.

I picked up the card and the car keys and left the house to go pick up the parcel only to find out I had previously left my lights on in my car and discovered a flat battery. So back into the house I went to get the keys to my wife’s car.

So again of I set to get my therapy for disrespect. The post office was really just around the corner so I could have walked but I was worried it would close by the time I got there and besides the parcel could have been a HUGE one that was too heavy to carry back home.

Now remember I am frustrated and hurt over feeling disprespected and I am on my search for therapy. I walked into the Australia Post post office, handed over the parcel card and told the lady I was just there to pick up the parcel. She looked very sheepish and proceeded to tell me that the parcel wasn’t there.

“What do you mean my parcel isn’t here?” I asked.

“Well it’s at a different post office” she replied as she picked up the card and pointed out that it was written on the card which post office it had been dropped off at.

She was right and I was back on the road in the search of my disrespect therapy and my ginormous parcel that would make me feel all better.

Into post office two and we started all over again.

“I just want to pick up the parcel please” I said with a manner that was a mix of short with frustration over the disrespect and smug with pride over how amazing this parcel was going to be.

“I am sorry sir but the parcel is not here” she said imitating her sheepish colleage as if the Australia Post staff were trained to deal with idiots in the same way.

“What do you mean my parcel isn’t here?” I again asked following my part of the script.

“Well itdoesn’t get dropped off until 4:30 sir” she replied as she picked up the card and pointed out that the time of drop off was also written on the card.

As I walked out of the post office I almost cried as my disrespect therapy had failed. I sucked it up and went home to my 14 week old son and told myself, “what are you getting upset about this beautiful boy is more impartant than any dissrespect and the lacking therapy for such. He will make you feel better.”

You can imagine how good I felt after that realisation and how all my problems just faded away…you can imagine it but it wasn’t true. Instead my beautiful 14 week old son decided to SCREEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMM like he never has before leaving me holding a baby making the noises that I felt inside only he is allowed to express those feelings. Apparently he’s too young to know better but I think I can claim to be too stupid to know better or at least too stubborn to do better.

My dissrespect therapy was this: If I am relying on external things and other people to make me feel better then my life and emotions are going to be a rollercoaster at best. I am responsible for my thoughts and actions, I am responsible for my happiness, and I refuse to leave that in the hands of other people or worse…to chance? I choose to move on and deal with my problem without the fuss and bother. I choose to not wollow in my misery and I choose to give my wife and son a big hug and kiss.

I choose.

p.s. I still haven’t collected the parcel…I choose to send my wife instead.