The Myth of Time

The photos pile up as do the books and magazines on the ottoman. There are dishes waiting to be done, waiting and waiting again. I walk across the living room floor and feel the grit of an unswept floor. Pilchard yells at me because, rightly, the litter boxes haven't been cleaned in 4 days. I look across the detritus of my life and think, "If only I had more time."

Time. Elusive. Fleeting. Never enough, especially when the great and exciting and the horrible and nasty events wander through our lives.

I've been feeling pulled in so many, many directions lately. Since February of 2013, my office has been working double time, triple time, in some cases. According to the boss, our office contributed 52% of total company revenues; 52%. I come home from a full day of work so very tired. With that weariness, the things which I enjoy doing get shunted aside. On the plus side, there's a lot of overtime which translates into a padding of the paycheck.

Add to this, the weather. The heavy rains had water seep into the basement. Step 1 is to wait for the rain to stop so the water stops coming in. Step 2 is to run a fan to dry the floor out. This whole month has been about survival. I knew I needed to clean the basement, sort and move things around so I can deal with the dying washing machine. But when the basement floor is wet, it's hard to clean. Finally, tonight, I was able to move everything that needed to be moved. Then the floor was swept and I'm ready.

Problem. The washer I want seems to be out of stock through the 7th. I have endured, thanks to Pam and Patt, without much in the way of washing clothes with my sorry machine. But, this is another week and I'm slowly running out of clothing. I suppose it's a fallacy to expect a reasonably priced washer to be in stock for next day delivery, but I'm going to the store after work tomorrow to see if my choice of machines, either #1 or #2, is available faster through the store. This is frustrating. It takes time to do all of this. It's more to do, on top of the things that I want or need to do.

I'm frustrated. I feel as if I'm spending way, way more time not getting things done. I feel as if I can't do things, like blogging, which are important to me, because there's too much other stuff going on. Mowing the lawn leads to trimming back the branches which have been bent by the wind and rain. It needs to quit raining so I can weed.

This is the mess in front of the air conditioner. I mow and I see this and I know it's not good for the unit to be so surrounded. It's like every weed seed in the ground germinated with the rains. I cleaned for an hour in the basement and then pulled weeds for an hour. This is as far as I got.

I need to spend more time; there's that word again; working through this mess to liberate the unit. I need to put down landscape fabric and cover it with rocks. That would effectively remove 90% of the weeds around the unit.

The cross-stitch isn't going to be done unless I can devote a full day to just stitching. Do I have the time to do that? I thoroughly cleaned the litter boxes and that area yesterday after mowing the lawn. Mowing is going faster now. I was able to mow the back, the side and half of the front before feeling tired. I did have to sit down with my feet up for an hour in order to finish the rest of the front. This is a victory. I'm looking toward the day this summer, when I can mow the whole lawn without stopping. I can feel this coming. It feels good.

But there are piles to go through and I just don't feel that I have time to devote to them. Clear away a block of time and something else pops up needing my attention. Overtime is coming, simply to get through all the reports I have stacking up. I'm on the road again tomorrow. There is a giant job looming. As much as my boss wants that job, the indecision of the general contractor and the confusion of the owner over what they actually want could mean we don't get any of it. I cannot say that I would be unhappy.

Friends have told me to let things go. It's terribly hard to do that. I am not, in any way, shape, or form, asking for you to pity me. I reiterate what I've said before with regards to pity. I don't have a use for it. I'm merely telling you how frustrated I am that all these things I find I cannot share because the muse parks herself over in a corner and refuses to play with me when I'm tired and I am so very, very tired.

I want to promise that I'll blog more but that would be a hollow promise. I can only promise that I'll turn up, every so often, to show you things I've found. I hope you'll check back every now and then. Maybe you'll find something interesting on these pages.

Beverage:  Dr Pepper

Deb