"It's about as pointless as our morning dodge routine."

 Wherein Jack complains. Or whines. Or is rude. Or is all of the above.
 Sometimes I read something by a talented person. Or I see a picture online of someone who sculpted the yellow brick road completely out of sand and added life size images of Dorothy, the Tin Man, Scarecrow, and the Lion. Sometimes when this happens I become rude. Sometimes I glare at said art work made out of sand and mutter complaints about the talented people.
 It's not as if I dislike talented people. I think my problem with it is, HOW CAN SOMEONE HAVE THAT KIND OF TALENT AND MY BIGGEST TALENT IS...nothing? 
 Okay, so that isn't completely true. I do have a talent. I'm very good at it.
 I have the ability to turn completely typical situations awkward.
 Yep! I am so good at it. I should get some kind of badge, or medal. An award? A smilie sticker? 
 Today I went to the post office. Normal, right? All I had to do was ship off some books. Put them in little boxes and send them off. So simple! 
 I walked into the post office confident I had this under control. After all, I fit into the adult age. I'm living in a state all on my lonesome without my mummy and daddy. Mail a box? Pfft. No problem. This wasn't even adult stuff. I've been mailing things for years.
 In I walked, my bomber jacket covered in snow from the randomly blizzard which hit me while I was out walking. I was balancing three very large books, my wallet, and phone. Oh, and my notebook. I stepped into the mailing area and stopped.
 Big mistake.
 All of my confidence drained out of me when I saw...Heavens! People! Suddenly I wasn't in the adult range of age but a five-year-old who was in dire need of her mommy...and a lolly pop. Because those things are good.
 The biggest problem with this whole endevour was that I couldn't turn and leave. I was already late getting the books out, and I HAD to do it today. I couldn't come up with a good reason to put it off for another day.
 Trying to pretend I still had the confidence to go through with this I set my books down and looked around for mailing packages. I saw rows of boxes, and more rows of boxes, and MORE boxes. How many boxes does one need to chose from?
 Of course, I did the normal thing in this situation. I panicked. Who wouldn't?! All those boxes! All those notes about the boxes! The mail man standing there and watching me intently! What if I picked the wrong box and he started throwing daggers at me? Were there boxes which had to be used for massive books? What if I grabbed a box meant for over seas and paid a hundred dollars so my books might get the grand tour of England while I was left behind?
 After much contemplation and wandering around I reminded myself of the adult age thing. "I've got this," I decided. I collected my books and approached the mail man. I intended to, in a very adult tone of voice as I've heard other adult age people use, ask the man while box might be best for my books and not cost me the fortune I didn't have.
 Bold and sure of myself, I walked up to him and set my teetering pile down. He eyed me with what I felt was disdain and the look of, "Oh great, one of THOSE costumers." All my nerve melted into the floor and I was back to wanting a lolly pop.
 I don't remember exactly what I asked, but it came out as a very childish, "How do I mail things?" kind of thing. He pointed me in the direction of the massive envelopes and I scrambled off with everyone in line now interested in the doings of the strange five foot something being. (I should have loudly declared I'm originally from Wyoming and they all would have left me alone.)
 If you're wondering, I did manage to get the books off. And the mail man praised me as one might praise a little kid who did a good job on their finger art. "You did well." (I will mention here I still didn't get a smilie sticker. If I'm going to get praised for something, at least throw in a sticker.)
 If I was still as painfully shy as I used to be I'd never show my face in that post office again. I'm now tempted to go back in tomorrow with my hair in pig tails, just skip in the door or something.
 And that is the story of how I mailed some books.I then came home and read about Iwo Jima. Nothing like crying over WWII after venturing out into the world.
 That is all now. I have work to do.
 Quote is from Unbroken. (Shocked, right?!)

 ALLONS-Y!