Time Suck
There's this part of me that still really believes that everyone else manages their time magically right. I know that people complain about how they don't have enough time and have to make compromises, and lots of people are around to preach that you can't do it all. But for some twisted reason, I can't make myself believe it. Somehow I really think that I'm the only loser who doesn't have it figured out.
I do manage to get to work on time (8 am) pretty much every morning, and I make it to my 4-hour nurse refresher classes twice a week. My daughter gets fed and bathed and cuddled, and my cat gets her daily medicine. I try to be really disciplined about getting enough sleep so I don't get a recurrence of the chronic fatigue syndrome. And ocassionally I sneak in a bit of time to blog. But that's about it. Our apartment is a truly embarassing disaster area. I still owe thank-you notes from April. Phone calls and e-mails go unreturned. The shelf in the upstairs bathroom that came down at some point before Christmas is still hanging there at an absurd angle, unrepaired (not to mention undusted). Lord knows I never do anything extreme or exotic like exercise. It feels like a triumph every time I manage to change the litterbox.
My dad and his wife Susan are arriving tonight for a four-day stay before heading back to Honduras, and I feel bad not to have everything nice for them. I feel bad not to have everything vaguely sort of acceptable for them. Not that they'll complain--to the contrary, they just try to help out however they can, which is of course very compassionate and nice, but the whole thing makes me feel like such a dithering fool.
I have a picture in my head of brisk, efficient women. They charge around getting things done and also know things like where's the best place to go for toddler swimming lessons and where to buy watch batteries. They aren't squishy and squinchy and waffling and eccentric. They're firm and tough and no-nonsense. They don't suffer fools. I think they get manicures. They probably drive minivans. Come to think of it, maybe they're stay-at-home moms, which would explain how they know the stuff they know. I don't know. I just know I fall short. I feel like a pale, soft cave creature, blinking ineffectually in the sunlight as sleek, shiny birds swoop nonchalantly overhead, doing things I can't imagine knowing how to do.
I'm tired of being overscheduled, tired of hating the household chaos as I pass by it seven or eight times a day on my way to do something else, tired of trade-offs. It's making me cranky and whiny and burnt out around the edges. It makes me want it to be somebody's fault. It makes me want a swimming pool and a drink and a rainy afternoon someplace soft and clean, with a novel. It makes me want to drop glass objects from 3 stories up for the satisfaction of watching them shatter.
Pete got Cassie an ant farm, and the ants are dying.
Phooey.
I do manage to get to work on time (8 am) pretty much every morning, and I make it to my 4-hour nurse refresher classes twice a week. My daughter gets fed and bathed and cuddled, and my cat gets her daily medicine. I try to be really disciplined about getting enough sleep so I don't get a recurrence of the chronic fatigue syndrome. And ocassionally I sneak in a bit of time to blog. But that's about it. Our apartment is a truly embarassing disaster area. I still owe thank-you notes from April. Phone calls and e-mails go unreturned. The shelf in the upstairs bathroom that came down at some point before Christmas is still hanging there at an absurd angle, unrepaired (not to mention undusted). Lord knows I never do anything extreme or exotic like exercise. It feels like a triumph every time I manage to change the litterbox.
My dad and his wife Susan are arriving tonight for a four-day stay before heading back to Honduras, and I feel bad not to have everything nice for them. I feel bad not to have everything vaguely sort of acceptable for them. Not that they'll complain--to the contrary, they just try to help out however they can, which is of course very compassionate and nice, but the whole thing makes me feel like such a dithering fool.
I have a picture in my head of brisk, efficient women. They charge around getting things done and also know things like where's the best place to go for toddler swimming lessons and where to buy watch batteries. They aren't squishy and squinchy and waffling and eccentric. They're firm and tough and no-nonsense. They don't suffer fools. I think they get manicures. They probably drive minivans. Come to think of it, maybe they're stay-at-home moms, which would explain how they know the stuff they know. I don't know. I just know I fall short. I feel like a pale, soft cave creature, blinking ineffectually in the sunlight as sleek, shiny birds swoop nonchalantly overhead, doing things I can't imagine knowing how to do.
I'm tired of being overscheduled, tired of hating the household chaos as I pass by it seven or eight times a day on my way to do something else, tired of trade-offs. It's making me cranky and whiny and burnt out around the edges. It makes me want it to be somebody's fault. It makes me want a swimming pool and a drink and a rainy afternoon someplace soft and clean, with a novel. It makes me want to drop glass objects from 3 stories up for the satisfaction of watching them shatter.
Pete got Cassie an ant farm, and the ants are dying.
Phooey.
posted by Rosie Bonner at 3:48 PM
5 Comments:
I love you so.
I realize this is that kind of annoyingly non-specific comment that illuminates nothing about your post, but so be it.
Ants in ant farms always die. Ant farms were designed by the same idiot who put up those discredited ghetto high rises in Chicago, St. Louis, and DC. It's not your fault! It's bad design!
I was in the exact same harried insane, how come everyone else does it better than me state last Friday. My daughter told me about some things she needed for the school's field day the morning she actually needed them. So we're in line at K-mart, I'm late for work, she's dangerously close to late for school and I'm feeling like the world's most disorganized incompetent mommy. I turn around, and there in line behind me is another Mommy--one of those super-energetic, volunteer for everything, I'm so perfect it makes everyone want to barf Mommies. Her arms were full of the same things I was there getting. As we were commiserating on the way out the door, she said, "Look we made it! With four minutes to spare!" Like we'd accomplished something great. So maybe it's all in the attitude, huh? Here I was freaking out because I only had four minutes to get across town to the school and she's excited because she has four whole minutes to get there!
There is a website that you may find helpful. I too was never able to get stuff done, and this helped me hugely. It's free, so trust me, I'm not shilling for them; I really found this woman to be helpful. She makes it so easy to clear up clutter AND get regular stuff done.
www.flylady.net
You know, I actually cut an article out of the newspaper about this lady maybe a year ago. But maybe now I'll really start paying attention and following her tenets.
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