A Worry Box, of course, is where you put your worries, ostensibly so you can forget about them until they have to be dealt with, but as I use Worry boxes, it's where I store my worries when I'm not sorting through them on an hourly basis.
But as with all Worry Boxes, trouble lay ahead.
The worry in the box was the "last" day for our Scout fundraiser, selling cookie dough at Cabela's in Ammon. I dutifully collected the cookie dough from Michelle's folks' house that morning, but when I went to leave my own house after stopping there briefly, another worry: My car wouldn't start. Plenty of battery, but just nothing when the key turned.
So add that to the Worry Box.
Michelle got me to Cabela's. It was really windy. We sold only 20 tubs of dough, so I had to take the rest back to Grampa's freezer and then stack the task into my Worry Box, right next to the broken paperweight of a car sitting in the driveway.
Uncharacteristically, I may have found a way to fix the car -- my nephew Nich knows his way around cars, works at an auto parts store, and is willing to come help me noodle through getting the starter replaced, which, we think, is the reason the car's not starting at the moment.
But the worries in the Worry Box multiply. Still have to sell that cookie dough. Still have to get the starter replaced and hope that actually fixes the problem. Still have to think about getting the car to the mechanic anyway just in case that isn't the problem and maybe there are other problems.
The Worry Box never really empties out. Dammit.
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