Yes, once again, here is that apologetic blog post where I stand, head down, eyes lowered, twisting my toe in the carpet and twiddling my thumbs before I say, "Yes, I've been a bad girl. A very bad girl. I haven't blogged in over a month." And you shake your finger at me and say, "You're not going to improve your writing that way, young lady!" And I cringe and say, "I know, I know, BUT..." And you say, "NO 'buts!!!'" (Mom used to talk to me that way).
So, as I said, here I am, after not blogging for well over a month, because I keep saying that I haven't had time. I suppose it is, as the saying goes, "relative." I haven't had time, relative to the time spent making soap. I haven't had time, relative to the time spent taking care of my grandson. But my grandson is my first priority and he has been with me the better part of 80 hours a week now that my daughter is working and going to school. And God Bless her for that.
Unfortunately, when time is at a premium, the price has to be paid somewhere. Like the fact that I haven't had my hair cut in almost two months. Look at me, I scream! Just look at me! The "no time," coupled with an inability to sleep, leaves one (mainly me) looking like Patty Smith. The only difference between me and Patty Smith is that she can sing; I can't. I shave my armpits; she doesn't.
So here I am, looking like Patty Smith, late on a Friday night (because I can't sleep), sitting in my frumpy, yet comfortable robe, wondering why I waste so much time. I have friends who would say, "You're kidding." But I'm not. I waste so much time, it's not funny. And it's because I must have some kind of Adult ADD. And, please, don't start sending me emails, hate mail, murderous snail mail about Adult ADD. I know it's nothing to laugh about. But somewhere, somehow, I have something like it, if not IT itself, and I'm not sure if it's kid-induced, menopause-induced or husband-induced, but if it's not ADD, then I'm smack-dab in the middle of some huge nervous breakdown or ... even better... a dream... where I wake up and find out that this was all a huge mistake and I'm really some exotic, beautiful woman with the firmest breasts that ever existed (size 38DD no less!), living in one of her 14 mansions on a private beach (any private beach with blue water and nobody around will do), a cabana boy who really is her ex-husband, but she keeps him around because she really does like the guy but he has this unnerving habit of leaving the toilet seat up.
Anyway, she wakes up, wipes the sweat from her brow and says, "Oh my God, I have got to start going to Church!"
The reality is, however, that it isn't a dream. I'm not a 38DD with the firmest DD you ever saw, so I have to accept the fact that I waste time dreaming about it and, because of whatever issue I have, I can't take full responsibility for my wasting of time. Anything I do I certainly can do VERY quickly. I can make soap quickly, I can cook quickly. I can get all of my chores done QUICKLY. I am very efficient. But my own mindblower is that if I didn't have this out-of-control disorganization, I truly think I might be up for some sort of award. A Pulitzer Prize even. Maybe some sort of Nobel Prize. Because even though, in any given day, I can take care of a 2 year old for 14 hours, make 6 pounds of soap, make a gourmet dinner, run errands, clean the bathroom, do 3 loads of laundry, answer emails, run two businesses (yeah, I make soap, but I've never told you about the other business I have and have done for the last 11 years because I'm afraid you'll think I am absolutely insane...), I take the most circuitous routes there are to get my work done.
I'll give you an example and then I'm ending this nonsensical, write-about-nothing post....
A day in the life of Maggie consists of getting up, making coffee, feeding the cats, starting to unload the dishwasher, checking email, playing with the cats, going back to the dishwasher, checking Facebook, starting to make husband's lunch, vacuuming the living room, finish unloading the dishwasher, continue making husband's lunch, running upstairs to cut soap, coming back downstairs to throw a load of laundry in, pouring another cup of coffee, finish making husband's lunch, playing with cats, checking email, returning client phone calls (on the business you don't know about which is, OK already, ... I have a dog walking/pet sitting business that earns great money [but, most of the dough goes to my employees because I have no freaking time to do the job!!!], getting two stuffed animals to stand at the door and jump around when grandson arrives, making breakfast for grandson, getting partially dressed (yes, partially - pajama bottoms off, pants on)...sitting with grandson while he eats more...continuing the partial dressing....socks on, robe off....play with grandson awhile...finish dressing (bra and shirt on)....brush teeth and it goes on and on and on and on.
I can't do anything from start to finish. My sister and I have talked about this. She is successful as well, but can't finish something from start to finish without doing something else TO SAVE HER LIFE!!!
So I waste time. So what. But it frustrates me and the people who work for me in the dog walking business. Those poor people deal with things from me like, "What day is it?" "Why are you there? Oh, right, they changed the schedule." Or the phone rings and one of the wonderful people who works for me says, "Maggie? I'm at the meeting. Where are YOU?" And I say, "Oh, I'm stuck in traffic," as I run to the bedroom, throw off my T-shirt and change into something presentable, race to the car and drive off into the sunset, forgetting the address of the house we are supposed to be meeting at and, sheepishly call my employee, as I turn in the wrong direction, and ask for the address.
