Yes, I know, I don’t even write as much as my dog does (http://littlemissjackie.wordpress.com). Maybe someone could give me some ideas. Don’t you hate how when you decide you want to write something, every thought flies out the window? My friend said the same thing on her blog some time back – I actually wrote most of this paragraph before I read that in her post, so I guess it’s not just me. It’s just like how the decision to go out to eat automatically erases all memory of local restaurants.
Plus, I wasn’t sleeping well for awhile, and when that happens my brain can barely figure out where my shoes are in the morning. Oh wait, did I brush my teeth? When I have days where my mind is really lucid, I spend all day running around doing all the jobs that have been languishing too long. (I love the word “languish”. It sounds like the undone jobs are lying on a couch with their hand on their forehead, sighing a lot.)
The other day, I listed one thing on eBay and did, like, 3 loads of laundry. That was the extent of my activity. I don’t think I ever got to the dishes. The day after that, I went to 4 garage sales (bought a lamp and a muffin tin – you can never have too many muffin tins), dusted and vacuumed, cleaned the kitchen and bathroom (even the shower and the rubber baseboards – AND washed the shower curtains), baked a batch of dog snacks and 2 loaves of banana bread, took a shower, went to the post office and the bead store, and made stuffed green peppers for dinner. Oddly, this is what I would like to consider “normal”. Unfortunately, this “normal” only happens in my life about 2 days a month. Other umpteen days of the month are spent lamenting my perceived lack of accomplishment and wishing I could have a “normal” day. “I wish I was normal so I could ________, or _________, or even ________!” (Fill in the blanks).
I read a Cathy cartoon where the size she considered “normal” for herself was a size she had attained once for 5 minutes years before, thus setting her up for disappointment every time she tried on a new pair of jeans because she wasn’t her “normal” size. It’s funny, because it’s true.
