Does it ever occur to you that if your deepest, most honest views are forever inaccessible to anyone outside yourself, that maybe everyone else’s are, too? That none of us really know anyone else at all?
Yes, somebody had a little bit too much think time yesterday. Drove three hours so that a doctor could flip through my chart and ask why nobody has ordered a CT scan yet.
‘Cause they couldn’t have done that without me there.
Not the most productive afternoon ever. I did however, get to eat an entire pound and a half of blueberries all by myself. It’s all about keeping the eyes open and the car on the road. And yes, I ate them unwashed, right out of the carton; if there is something freaky going on in my gut we can blame it on that.
As for Take it Easy Tuesday, can I just observe that a conscious effort at infusing more relaxation and fun into one’s life isn’t really…. fun?
What if there are some people who really just don’t enjoy kicking back? I’m afraid that my idea of a good time involves doing.
That’s not to say I don’t take whatever shortcuts I can:
- I refuse to wash my car. What difference does it make if I spend twenty hours or zero hours a year cleaning it? It’s not like I eat off the hood. I can’t see the outside of my car when I’m in it, and when I’m not in it, it’s hidden away somewhere in the great outdoors. You’re the only one who will benefit from it’s sparkling beauty, and I don’t really care what you think. (I know, I know, supposedly there is something about corrosion involved, but I really couldn’t care less if I drove a rust bucket because when I’m in it I can’t see it…..etc…)
- Ditto the inside of my oven. Whatever is on the inside of my oven affects the quality of my life how? I don’t spend time admiring the insides of it, and if some previous spill is scorching, I either scrape it out or wait until it burns off–depending on the volume of smoke issuing therefrom. Isn’t the basic principle behind a self-cleaning oven?
- I don’t own clothing that needs ironing.
- I don’t have any body piercings or own any jewelry. Just think of all the time I haven’t spent organizing, looking for, putting on or taking off the stuff over the last 35 years. And yes, this is absolutely a principle of time management for me. Flat out don’t have time for ornamentation. A wedding ring is my one concession.
- Ditto elaborate systems of clothing coordination. I have shirts and I have pants. They pretty much all go together.
- I don’t make my bed. Mostly because the Mr. always has. But I can’t guarantee that I would start, should he go on strike.
- I almost never answer my phone; if it’s important, you’ll leave a message.
- Take a look at my yard; this is a shortcut I’m not proud of, but it’s one of those straws that I simply cannot get my back under without the danger of a serious breach developing.
- I may or may not have read any of the assigned chapters in my last literacy class. Seven hundred pages of fine print about developing literacy curriculum for grades I will never teach? And even if I was, I’d never remember anything then that I read now. I have the book; I know where to find the information should I ever need it.
- I don’t sort my silverware. I take the basket out of my dishwasher, and I dump it into the drawer. What? You can’t visually pick out the difference between a spoon, a fork and a knife at one glance?
- Ditto my children’s socks. If you want your socks to match–you sort them.
- And just in case you think my life is a complete disaster, might I point out that some things are worth organizing; you should see my rolling can shelves. They are the ultimate shortcut–your canned goods organize themselves by expiration date.
- I deal with most health problems by ignoring them. Almost everything clears up on its own whether or not you spend hours on end in a clinic waiting room. Which is one of the things I was thinking about during my drive yesterday. What, really, is all this driving around and bloodletting doing for me? If it weren’t for the itching–which I’m learning to ignore except during the most mind-numbing of meetings–I really do feel pretty normal. Can’t I just go back to my regular life and let my body do its thing? What’s the worst that can happen?
- Don’t answer that.