Last night I noted that I needed to help a friend after the kids were in bed. By "help a friend" I of course meant that my friend Eileen is too chicken to color her own hair, and in the logic that only a best friend can have, figured it was somehow safer to come over to my house, ply me with alcohol, and let me do it. I am pleased to report that we did indeed wash that grey right outta her hair and it was a fairly early night. I didn't even dye much of her face. However, lightweight that I am, it seemed somehow wrong to try to sit down and do my reading for my church study group after an...
Honestly, I'm a glass-is-half-empty kind of person. I don't want to be. I'm trying to change. For me it's something that requires real effort, and of course I suspect that for others it comes easily and that only contributes to my frustration. It's evening, I have plans to help a friend with something tonight after the kids are in bed, and I'm on the verge of hyperventilating. Today I didn't: pay the bills... balance my checkbook... call the lawnmower repair guy... write the letter I need to write to get my summer camp money refunded... fold the @&%#! laundry... receive my child support...
Ooooooh noooooooo. The kids will be home from Daddy's in about an hour. They will probably be unfed, definitely be wound up, and I haven't gotten enough done in their absence. I have this fantasy, you see, that some weekend they will leave for Daddy's and when they return I will have the house In Order. Don't ask me to define it. I told you it's a fantasy. I can only verbalize parts of it: The refrigerator and pantry would be freshly stocked (I forgot to get to the store this weekend), the house would be clean for a change (I don't think I'm in line for a CFS bust or anything, but it could...
Yesterday I mowed the lawn and got my flower beds prepped. Today I got my annuals planted. The frenetic I-must-accomplish-something-tangible drive that I experience these days demands that the outside of the house look good. When I was still married, I didn't care as much. I mean, I cared, but what didn't get done didn't get done. Now I'm paranoid; I'm convinced that if the grass gets too high or my flower beds remain neglected for too long, the entire neighborhood will be gossiping about how I just can't keep it together without a man. How pitiful is that? It's even sillier when you...
