After having spent Thursday night dealing with the light bulb situation around here and installing eight million of the new ones along with a stern lecture regarding what I feel is to be their performance in their new home, I felt that I was off to a good start. For the first time in weeks, I have a weekend that is custom-made for me. Nothing to do, no pressing engagements penned heavily on the calendar, nary a soul who expects me to be somewhere to do something. I love having plans...honestly. It makes me feel needed. And I sometimes worry about falling in the shower and no one missing me for weeks and weeks until the odd smell from the home of "that recluse we used to hear moving around upstairs from time to time" signals trouble. But I surely do love those weekends where the time is mine own.
And, even better, it is a rainy one. What could be better? If anyone should happen to suggest a spontaneous beach romp or a round of Ultimate Frisbee in the park, all I need do is point to the skies and...poof! Instant excuse! Life is good!
There are any number of things that need doing around here. I've been so busy with the socializing, light bulb tending and hot water heater inspections, that I've neglected to do those little things that make for clean living. Like running the dishwasher or scraping a layer or two off the kitchen floors. With two whole days in which to deal with all things housekeeping, I should surely be able to get one or two tasks off the to-do list.
Of course, by now, we all know that this is never the case. Today has been no exception and I'm running true to form. I've successfully managed to waste an entire day. It seems that I have raised this ability to an art form. Poems and songs will one day be written about this middle aged Sheep who can somehow lose an entire day to her sofa. I should probably write a how-to book. I keep hearing about those over-achievers who lament their inability to relax and who pay vast sums to dude ranches and therapists in order that they might learn the art of the lay-about. I'll make a fortune.
Except, of course, for the fact that this will require me to sit upright for more than ten minutes at a time in order that I might write this tome. And I'll certainly have to do any number of speaking engagements. That probably isn't going to work out. Maybe they'll let me do that thing where I appear via satellite. I could speak to the masses directly from my couch and, if they aim the cameras just right, I'll only have to wear appropriate clothing from the waist up. The rest of me can remain clad in chocolate-stained sweatpants...
I'm tired just thinking about it.
For what it's worth, I did actually push the button that makes the dishwasher start emitting those "swishy" sounds. And I managed to drag that stinky bag of trash to The Dumpster Where I Am Absolutely, 100% Certain The Zombies Live before the rains started to fall. I even pulled myself away from the couch long enough to dump a box of brownie mix into a bowl with a variety of other items and then bake them almost as long as the directions suggested.
The floor remains unscraped, however, and the Big, Fluffy Kitty has been making noises which suggest that I should consider doing something with the little deposits she's been leaving in the litter box sometime soon. I suppose that I should also consider removing those clean dishes from the Swishy Machine before I forget all about them and start layering dirty dishes on top of the nice, clean ones. There are things that still need doing. But I don't care. I still have another day in which to do all this stuff. It'll all still be there.
I play to my strengths. I have learned a thing or two about what I'm good at over the years. Someday, maybe I'll learn some better habits. Or, at the very least, start on that self-help book which will earn me enough of a fortune to hire someone to learn these habits for me. Meanwhile, I'll just go with what works:
If you can call it work...