I’m sorry, that last entry sounded very complainy, and I know how little I have to complain about. We’re healthy, safe, and we have Enough, and none of that other stuff really matters, it’s just stuff that gets in my face and blocks my view. I was hoping if I blatted it out here on this blog, it’d be out of my brain and into someplace manageable. Didn’t work, but it was worth a shot.
Yes Amy I love lists, perhaps a little too much: different-colored ink, sections devoted to different sections of my life, the day divided into 3-hour chunks, charts with stars and exclamation points, very fun. It’s so much easier to sit down with a cup of coffee and a pen and paper and feel all organized, than to get up and do the stuff on the list. When I’m up and doing, I keep forgetting where I left my coffee. In other words, I’ve noticed that I tend to use making lists as a substitute for actually doing anything. When I was doing the Fly Lady thing, my Control Journal was very spiffy indeed. My house, not so much.
And oh Melanie, I do indeed understand the bronze-medal thing. As Garrison Keillor says, “Honorable mention is more than good enough.”
So yeah. It’s all good. I just wish I could hold a thought in my head for more than ten seconds. I’m trying to scare myself straight by saying I have to get it all done in four months, but judging by my current behavior, four months seems like a long time to me. Huh. I didn’t think it would. But you know, I always got good grades in school and always rode the ragged edge of the deadline. A is for Adrenaline. Apparently.
Must fetch Sniglet. Laters. Song du jour of the day: A Mover la Colita, by La Sonora Dinamita.