I need a hug.
The amount of past suck-i-tude arrayed out before me in the form of a pile of paper that makes The Stand look small just breaks my brain.
This where having a mommy that was a bookkeeper for small businesses suddenly becomes a benefit. All that nagging for all those years that I keep every scrap of information as it relates to my financial health or lack thereof apparently took root without me realizing it. I had shit that I didn't even know I had filed away. After years of threatening to set fire to all that paper as part of my never-ending quest to de-clutter my life and failing to do so because the Mom!Marcs in my head yelled at me not to do it suddenly becomes a good thing.
All this blood and pain on my part, by the way, is being achieved while half my co-conspirators have massive panic attacks and the other half are sufficiently intimidated to the point where they've disappeared off the face of the planet.
The less said about one co-conspirator who "doesn't have the time" to do what he needs to do, despite the fact that everyone else in the group needs him to cowboy up and do his frigging job so we can move forward, the better.
JFC, I'm not going to get to bed before 1:15 a.m., but I can't get to bed until every "T" is crossed and "I" is dotted at my end.
Have I mentioned that I really need a hug?