The poop and scoop and other joys of life and homeownership
I’m sure you’ve noticed the lack of any sort of activity here recently. I wish I could say that I’ve suddenly grown the productive gene and become SUPER WOMAN on the domestic goddess home front.
Well, I sorta have been working to better my lack of productivity. But not completely. So, I suppose I can’t go out and get measured for the tight-fitting Wonder Woman costume. I mean … I’ve really cut down on my TV watching, and ladies and gentlemen, that is HUGE! And by huge, I mean, like
Still, I find myself frittering away my time in other pursuits of fancy, like, spending 2 hours on Facebook, writing needless status updates that mean nothing to any one, except for maybe me. I mean, you know you are a Crazy Cat Lady when you include your cat in your status update at least once per day, but maybe more .. not naming how many more, but just more.
I have a lot that I need to accomplish, and as I stare my 39 birthday in the face, I can’t help but think that time isn’t going to stand still for me to accomplish them. So, really, it’s fish or cut bait time, folks.
And what does that mean, anyway … fish or cut bait? I mean, I hated fishing when I was a kid, and according to my father, I wasn’t very good at it. Actually, I’m sure I probably could be good at it, but two things work against me in that arena:
1.) I have to be quiet, and who really wants to be quiet for 4 hours at a time? Really?
2.) If the fish aren’t bitin’, Momma’s not happy. I’m a creature that likes variety. I like difference. I thrive on change. And this whole sitting and nothing’s happening business, just doesn’t work for me. AT. ALL.
But with the advent of another birthday, a significant birthday before THE significant birthday, I have decided that I must once again reign in the [capital letters] Out of Control in my life, and that I must take charge. I have convinced myself for far too long that I have control over certain things and that other things are beyond my control. This is the case for some things, but I think I’ve convinced myself that more is out of control than really, truly is.
Operation GET CONTROL is therefore, now in full on operation mode.
For starters, I gave myself a purse for my birthday. Okay, so a purse doesn’t actually do anything to help me gain control over my life, and the mere fact that I bought myself my own birthday gift, might point to a symptom of my out of control-ness. But come on! A girl can’t be expected to do battle with the Control Monster without a cute bag on her arm, right?
I’ve also signed up for Weight Watchers. Oh how many times have I said I would NEVER put any money into such a vast, large conglomeration of business that feeds on the fat and misshapen? Oh why have I not learned from my own life lessons and have stopped saying NEVER … because saying never is signing a death sentence to my resolve and me actually doing what I said I would NEVER do.
It’s also come to my attention that in order to have a certain amount of order to my life, I do, in fact, have to ask for help sometimes. I mean, it’s great and all that I THINK I’m little Miss Independent, but really, when you manage to flood your bathroom not once but TWICE, and there is no hope of your toilet EVER unclogging with the discount plunger you purchased at the discount hardware ten years ago, it’s time to call in the troops.
Priorities need to actually be the priority, which I realize is a ridiculously stupid way of saying, GET IT TOGETHER,
Finally, I must learn to embrace the fact that I’m getting older, and that doesn’t necessarily mean that I have one foot on a banana peel and one in the grave. But rather, I need to enjoy the phases my life takes … the twists and the turns. It’s okay that Metamucil is now a part of my breakfast. Really. No one cares … except for possibly me and my plumber. It’s often been said that life is what happens while we’re busy making plans. Not sure who said it, but I’m certain they were famous and brilliant and paid to sit and come up with grandiose nuggets of life-altering greatness … and they didn’t have to take Metamucil, but it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that I purposefully enjoy my highs and look for ways to find the joy in my lows. I only get this one life.
So, there you have it. My view of life … from the Deep End of the Pool.