Sunday, May 08, 2005


Ya' know, I want to be able to just jump quickly into my blog and put up a 15 minute update. But the blog gods are against me. I spent half an hour trying to figure out why it wouldn't upload my last two pictures (unsuccessfully). If I can't make the tools work for me, then I'm only going to be able to do this when I have big chunks of time to work on all the bits and pieces. And I can't be doing that in the middle of the night on a regular basis.

Here's a minor indication of the scatteredness in which my brain works. There are three half-read books and two poetry anthologies on my nightstand, and I don't even read in bed -- ever. But that's where the books land when I want to remind myself to finish them. Alas, that tactic does not work. I Don't Mean to be Rude But..., Gig, and Autobiography of a Fat Bride were all books I started reading on plane trips. A new poetry book is easy enough to leaf through, and an old one is a comfort. I do have a love-hate relationship with most poetry anthologies, though, so I can be easily frustrated by them.

But the real point is that I can't even finish a silly little book (to call them fluff would be a tremendous compliment).

I'm alone today with no Sunday commitment (rare), and my husband is working a full eight-hour Mothers' Day shift. The perfect opportunity to work on all the house-based projects I've neglected so badly in the past few months. But then I slept late (after the 3:00 am blog entry), and then I wasted some time watching overly sentimental movies (Something's Gotta' Give, Safe Passage). Now I'm trying to clean and organize and 'make home,' and I feel like a complete failure because everytime I pick up an object to determine its fate, I am faced with myriad contingent questions. Even though I know I can't possibly do everything today, I feel like a failure for not being able to do it all in one day. How did I let it get so out of control?

That question will have to be contemplated while I get back to my chores. Both the washer and dryer have stopped, and there's a pile of clothes that need sorting -- those in good shape to give away and those in bad shape to trash.

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