So this week will be a test of my determination to post something here at least once a week. I say that every week (well, I think it every week, anyway), but this time, I'm serious.
When I'm overextended, I tend to look for shortcuts, and to rush through things and places and people as fast as I can, so that I can get to the next task. Not the most harmonious approach to life, I know. Sometimes, things go smoothly, and I dodge and weave my way through the grocery store, for example, finding the shortest line, and sailing out of there with no delays.
Other times, I hit roadblocks and obstacles, seething as I wait for slow people to meander their way through wherever I happen to be. Like the grocery store again, where I try not to let my irritation show as the overly friendly, overly solicitous cashier stops to chat with EVERY SINGLE PERSON in the already too-long line, and asks EVERYONE if they found everything they needed, or if they need stamps, or if they want paper or plastic. But by the time I reach the front of the line, all I can think is I'LL BEAT YOU WITH THAT PAPER BAG! I'LL BURN THIS PLACE DOWN WITH THOSE POSTAGE STAMPS, WHICH WILL BE IGNITED BY THE FIRE OF MY RIGHTEOUS FURY!
And then I say "Oh yes, thank you. No, no stamps, thank you. No, I have my own bags. Thank you. Yes, you too! Thanks again!"
Tuesday
In The Screwtape Letters, there's a part where Screwtape writes to Wormwood that his goal should be to make sure that his mortal victims realize, far too late, that they spent most of their time doing neither what they should have done nor what they wanted to do.
This made a deep impression on me. I don't ever set out to waste time, of course, but I give way to panic and indecision, and minutes (or hours) later realize that I just wasted an irretrievable part of my day because I couldn't decide what to do.
But not today. Today was one of those days when I stayed focused from morning to night. Productive at work and productive at home. I finished making dinner at about 8:15. Too late to go swimming, I thought, because the pool closes at 8:45. On the other hand, the pool is right around the corner. But on yet another hand, I'm still in my work clothes. But if I get changed quickly, I can be in the water by 8:25, which means that I can swim for 20 minutes.
There are plenty of days (most days) when the back and forth about this very minor decision would have sent me into a tailspin of panic-fueled indecision, until it was too late to do whatever I was trying to decide to do or not to do. But again, not today. I covered the food with aluminum foil, ran and put on a suit, grabbed a towel, drove to the pool, and was in the water by 8:25. And that short time in the water was like a 20-minute vacation that made the kitchen clean-up that still awaited entirely worth it.
Wednesday
My grandmother, who is in her 90s, used to be a writer of strongly worded letters. Any time she was outraged or offended about something (almost daily), she'd write to newspaper editorial pages, local officials, members of Congress, or anyone else who incurred her displeasure or who should, in her opinion, address whatever issue she was concerned about. She had very nice Catholic school Palmer Method handwriting, and she wrote her letters in longhand, on lined letter paper (the kind you used to be able to buy in tablets at drugstores) at the end of her kitchen table. She had the names and office addresses of the mayor of Philadelphia, the governor of Pennsylvania, her Senators and Representative, and every member of the Philadelphia City Council (they were frequent letter targets) in her leather address book. I don't recall that she ever wrote to the President, but perhaps she did. Or perhaps she just copied him on her letters to her Senators. Her letter-writing efforts were not restricted to politicians and newspaper editors. If a product or a service or an establishment didn't live up to her expectations, those responsible would hear, in letter form, from my grandmother.
I was writing something about something that happened today, and I couldn't sustain enough interest in the story to even finish the first sentence, so I won't inflict it on my reading public. You're welcome.
Friday
Ain't nobody got time to blog today.
Sunday
I worked part-time and/or at home from 2009 to 2016. Of course, the Internet and mobile technology were around in 2009, but I don't remember feeling required to be available for work at all times, just because it was possible to work at all times. Things have changed, though.
I love my job. But it occurred to me yesterday that perhaps I shouldn't feel guilty about joining my son and his friends and their mothers for a post swim meet lunch and buddy gift shopping trip, rather than going immediately home to work. Because yesterday was Saturday. Of course, I paid for it by working until 10 last night.
*****
Hey, that's kind of a lot. I didn't think I'd get more than a sentence or two out of myself this week. None of it makes sense or is relevant to anything, but I don't promise all the news that's fit to print.
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