Friday, August 21, 2009

Getting ahead, or at least keeping up

There are a few things in life that just make me crazy. Disorganization is at the head of the unacceptable list. I am self employed and I make the schedule for my work on a weekly basis. I always say I'm flexible to my clients, but I secretly want to pummel them when they call me to change up the plan. " Sure", I will reply through tightly clenched teeth, " we can do Thurs., instead of Fri.". Now, I would never inflict my uptightness about changing the plan on my clients. That would be unprofessional. It's my own cross to bear. Usually, a quick swearing festival puts me right and then I can take a deep breath and move on. I'm not particularly proud of this trait, but believe me, its gotten better over the years and I figure by the time I'm ready to kick off, I'll be a go with the flow kinda girl. Well, maybe that is a bit ambitious, but I can have goals.

I really hate it when I get behind on stuff. Stupid stuff, say a sink that is full of dirty dishes. It's like a slow form of torture for me. I will be sitting down, working on a crossword and small voice will keep saying to me, " It's not right that those dishes are piled up so high in the sink". It's an agitation that will build to a crescendo and when I finally do get up and wash all the dishes, I am filled with exhaustive relief. Is that weird? I am so behind on reading the New Yorker right now. It's almost overwhelming how backed up they've gotten. I want to read every single word, but at this point I would have to lock myself in a room for two days straight to catch up. Reading the New Yorker is almost like having a part time job. A job that you really enjoy, but it's a commitment of time and mental focus. Both of those things seem to be scarce in my life this minute.

Just to add to my mental pressures, my tomato plants have gone absolutely beserk. I have a zillion ripe tomatoes. The only solution is to make tomato sauce, but the weather has gone to Africa humidity and I can't bear the thought of turning on the stove. Instead, I look at the tomatoes on my windowsill, and the beauties hanging on the vines, ruby red and ready for enjoyment and I whisper to them to hang on. " Just a few more days and this weather will break, I'll soon have time and energy to focus on whipping up a sauce of epic proportions", I tell them. I believe it when I say it. I hope it's true, for their sake.

I think my conclusion is that I am one of those folks who secretly enjoys torturing themselves. If I don't have a list of things to do, I am unhappy. My husband can sit inert in front of the tv for hours, not a care in the world. There could be laundry piled to the ceiling, carpets full of dog hair,dirty dishes, phone calls to make, all of this means nothing to him. I won't say that doesn't make me a little crazy, but he's a great guy and that's how he gets away with it. Okay, I've sat here long enough, time to go make a list and do those dishes.

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