There are words that so skillfully convey their intention that they just taste right. The perfection of them make me want to weep with joy… unless, of course, I’m dealing with life and not just sitting around savoring words. But I gave myself a few seconds, just now, to roll the world “fritter” around in my mouth and brain before I commence Freaking. Out.
Alas, I have frittered away my weekend. In my mind’s eye I can actually conjure an image of useful time units fluttering away in the breeze as I toss them from a decorative basket, giggling. It’s not just any weekend, either. It’s a long weekend and it’s nearly my last kid-free weekend pre-surgery (“pre-surgery” translating to “when I can hope to accomplish anything in this life”), and my to-do list is still a mile long. Where has my time gone? Why haven’t I completed more projects? How many things can I pack in between now and the children’s return in a mere eight hours??
In fairness to myself, I did finish a few things that Needed Doing. The weekend hasn’t been a total wash, productivity-wise. Also, I hear that enjoying yourself or even just being a slug once in a while is encouraged–maybe even recommended–for well-adjusted humans. (Having never really made it past partially-adjusted, myself, this is a murky area for me.) And while neither my behind or my to-do list will thank Marcey for stuffing me with Edy’s Peanut Butter Cup ice cream last night while we made fun of While You Were Out, my soul thanks her profusely.
All that remains to me now is prioritizing the rest of the items on the list and deciding how frenetic I wish the remainder of my day to be. Hmmmm. And I need to do this while fighting against the Homer Simpson portion of my brain which has said naught but “Mmmmmm, fritters!” since I woke up this morning. (There is nothing to eat here, I tell you. Crap. Add “go for groceries” to the list.)