No rest in Well now

Saturday morning -
It’s just past eleven and I am finishing a break.
I have been a relatively good, relatively old girl this morning.

I slept in, again relatively.
Instead of getting up at five this morning, I slovenly arose quarter past seven.
Woo-woo!
As on most mornings I awoke with the knowledge that I have too much to do and no matter how productive a day I have, I’ll go to bed at least as far behind as I started off.

• Yesterday, as I locked my front door in the dark and hurried to my car in a cloud of doom, I was ridiculously anxious over the fact that it was five minutes past six. A mile and a half away, the custodian had already unlocked the building and I wasn’t there to start my workday. I was actually distressed at the prospect of arriving ten minutes later than my usual forty-five minutes early. My boss might get there before I did! Gasp!
  As I put the heavy filebox of unfinished work I’d brought home the night before
  onto the back seat of my car, I realized I’d left my lunch on the kitchen counter.
  For a moment I thought of just leaving it there to rot and going without rather than waste the minute it would take to go back and get it.
  Then I shook my head.
  What an idiot I’m becoming!
  Freaked out over being a little late for being very early.
  I’m the one who’s going to give me a heart attack.

But I’ve been productive this morning.
I got the laundry started with the clothing.
Stripped all my sleeping spots of various coverings for the second load.
Emptied several discard bags and boxes.
Cleaned and disinfected the bathroom floor of all the normal tracked litter-bits
and the annoyingly disgusting unmentionable things that Lucy is depositing in all the wrong places since she’s decided she’s too good for the litterbox now.
Spent ten minutes outside attacking the four foot stump with nothing but the backside of a sturdy hammer.

• I call it extreme whittling. I’ve taken the daggone thing down a couple of inches in these short but regular demolition sessions. I can only swing the hammer and let its weight bite claw-end into the wood for short bits of time before the back whispers -
  “Do you really want to keep doing this? I’m just saying…”

Spent another ten minutes sitting in a lawn chair,
cutting up a mass of tree branches for discard.
Spent the last fifteen minutes here, typing this with a fan blowing high directly at me to bring me back down to a livable human temperature.

Break over.
I meant to start working on that filebox an hour ago.

Last updated September 30, 2017