my pink toes

I got back from the end-of-the-year picnic at Henry's school and found a note from the post office informing me they had a Certified Letter for me that they couldn't deliver because I was not home to sign for it.

I freaked out.

In my little, crazy, try-not-to-bother-too-many-people world, Certified Letter = B-A-D. I think it is the official way to send Bad News -its own little post-office category cleverly disguised with the word "certified". I am not a pessimistic person, so I know with my latest bad mood and all perhaps I took this the wrong way. Yet I can't really see how this could mean anything else. I don't think people use certified mail to say "Dear Leah, I think you're awesome. Also, here's a million dollars!" I mean, not usually.

My mind is racing: Who is suing us? How will we cope? We can't afford a lawyer. Who could be so angry with us as to send us Certified Bad News? Do we have some bill we aren't aware of and now they're going to take away our house because we didn't pay it?

This does not help me dealing with my Issues. One of the big things I've had to deal with as an adult is the repercussions of a highly unpredictable childhood. I would think things were going well and then BAM! the bottom would fall out, and for reasons I couldn't entirely fathom I'd be in horrible trouble, complete with yelling and shaming and grounding and oh-my-gosh-how-on-earth-could-you-be-so-stupid-I-can't-believe-I-have-to-
put-up-with-you-ing (which wasn't always communicated in words, per se, but in raised eyebrows, curled lips, spankings, and physical and emotional distance). As a result, I have gone through life constantly looking over my shoulder, worrying about any possible little thing, any tiny loose thread I could have left hanging, any potential way in which I have let someone down, angered them, or Crossed The Line. (Where is The Line? Hell if I know - it never seems to stay put).

I'm feeling the same sort of panic with this letter. I have pushed through, made great strides in counseling (I no longer have a panic attack when someone honks at me in traffic, feeling oh-so-sure they are going to hunt me down and run me off the road or call the police or maybe just scold me very sternly and use their eyebrows and curled lips to tell me what an absolute loser I am and who-allowed-me-to-get-a-driver's-license-anyway, for example), but it is SO MUCH WORK. I'm exhausted. And panicked. And I won't know anything until tomorrow.

Envelope of Doom
It cost $5.21 to send it!

Update 6/23 (Fri): I called the post office because they did NOT attempt to redeliver the letter today (Dave was home all day working, so we'd know). The lady seemed quite offended that I had not memorized the Post Office Regulation Manual where it mentions that Certified mail is NOT automatically redelivered ever, only Express Mail is, sheesh! And because our postal carrier failed to checkmark ANY boxes on the slip (the slip with the bold headline "We Re-Deliver for You!"), we were unable to ascertain this information.
She WAS able to tell me the sender: Sound Transit. Whew. At least I know the public transportation system doesn't have the authority to take away my house. Right? Please tell me I'm right.
I can't pick up the letter until tomorrow, now.

Final Update: My husband got a little creative in his interpretation of "parking space" at the Park-N-Ride. If he does it again, they'll tow him.