Do I hafta?

This blog is supposed to be about wasting time, not about motivational stuff, but all my responsibilities are seriously cutting into my time-wasting, so I need to review an inspiration I had way back in high-school but have kind of forgotten about for a while.

Here it is, my big breakthrough:

You don’t have to do anything.

I’m trying to shift my thinking, and remember this. I don’t have to do anything. There are things I want to do. There I things I need to do, in order to make the things I want to do possible. But there is nothing I have to do.

It’s just a trick of thinking, but it really helps me to focus my efforts in a positive way. So this morning, I need to do the laundry, because I want to eliminate that stinky smell from the mudroom. Also I want to wear jeans again tomorrow. And I want my children to have clean underwear.

I don’t have to do laundry, I WANT to do laundry! Yippee!

Ok, so not always such a dramatic effect--“results are not typical.” But amazingly this morning I discovered a new dimension to my “need to/want to” philosophy. I was on Facebook, mindlessly playing Bejeweled Blitz, as I often do, and I thought, “I sure don’t need to do this. And actually, I don’t really want to do this.” And then I did the unthinkable. I stopped playing! And I decided I wanted to write instead.

Thinking about this a little more as I did my laundry. I know it sounds too simplistic. Can everything you do really be traced back to doing what you want to? Today, I really want to take that crummy Nikon digital camera that’s only a few months old, and cram it down Ashton Kutcher’s throat. But then, I also want to continue to live in my home, not in prison, so I guess I don’t want to do that after all.

It does work!

Where's the Chocolate?

Right now, I’d like to trade a week for a week of my single life. Any week. I’ll even take a rotten one like the week after a bad break-up, or one of those weeks when I worked like 60 hours because I was young and dumb and really believed they might fire me if I didn’t.

This time, I’d go directly from breakup to the mall, and drive the 3 hours home with shopping bags on my passenger seat instead of a steadily growing pile of snotty tissues.

This time, I’d give that uptight boss (who was only 3 months less young and dumb than me) a decaf cappuccino for a Christmas present, and go home Christmas Eve not even worrying that I didn’t have everything done. And this time, two days after Christmas, I wouldn’t be redoing and undoing things that he’d demanded, because the “company” decided to change plans.

This time, if anyone confronted me, I’d just say, “In a week, I’ll be in a different life, a different place. Why should I be miserable today?”

Why should I be miserable today? In a week, this will all be different.

Attitude adjustments aren't always easy. Chocolate helps. A night out with friends helps. So do perfectly timed blog posts, like this one: http://thiswomansview18.blogspot.com/2010/09/not-too-late.html

Might be Deleting This Tomorrow

Am I drinking and blogging? Watching Glee, thinking, Yay, I’m going to write an AWESOME YA novel for NaNoWriMo. WTF. What about my other novel. That awesome one that I haven’t finished. When am I going to do that? (I should really leave all these typeos in just to see how drin,ing I am. Yeah. I REALLY (my fav overused word) need to just finishe my last story. The only thing I need is: ddddddaaaaaadaaaadaaaa. that’s a drum roll if you didn’t know. I just need to write the part wither Emily makes good on her promishe to mindy and drags mindy’s daugheter mikayla to visit her in prision. jUst a few good show not tell kind of scenes to round out the book, and then maybe a “teeney tiney” bit of happitly every after, and then I can give it to my sis Joanne and say Readitandweep.

Yeah and then I’ll be done for a while with that WIP (or POS all depends on perspective), and free to spend Oct. on tax classes and freaking hard tests of irrational thinking, and Nov. on NaNoWriMo and fantastical thinking of my fabulous YA novel.

FYI, I was feeling like this was a Friday, BEFORE I found out Glee was on and before hubby said something annonying wichi I can’t remember but whichi convinced me that rum’n’coke was in order.

Free Time

It’s the second week of back to school and I’m sure you all are dying to know what I’m doing with all my free time*

*free time=2.25 hours X 3 days = 6.75 non-consecutive hours.

So here goes. I head home from preschool drop-off where I exercise, then I shower, dress and makeup, do my hair. As soon as I look fabulous, I head to the mall to meet a girlfriend for some Starbucks and shopping (unless I have a mani/pedi scheduled). I arrive back at preschool in a timely manner so I can bond with other parents and listen attentively to what the preschool teacher has to say about the day’s class.

Oh, wait no, that’s just my fantasy.

Here goes, for real. I head home from preschool drop off and crack open a Diet Coke, to hopefully perk my eyelids up from their current position dragging on the floor. I wouldn’t be so tired, except I was awakened multiple times during the night to deal with “scary fings.” As soon as the bubbly begins to arouse my brain, I have to decide whether to toss the uneaten toast I only made because the boy was “REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, Super-ally-duper hungry”. Or should I meanly save it for his lunch and say “You DEMANDED I make this, now you WILL eat it.”

I realize that I may or may not have eaten breakfast, standing up, and I am in fact, Super-ally-duper hungry. I eat the cold toast. Very unsatisfying. I make some fresh toast, dripping with melty peanut-butter. Cannot exercise while eating toast. Can only log onto computer and check e-mail/facebook. Fortunately, there is a clock near the computer, slowly counting down my precious 2.25 hours before I have to leave, so reluctantly I break the grip of the internet, and force myself to look at my to-do list.

Oooh, I have to make a call to the insurance company. This I can do and still play Bejeweled Blitz. Sadly, regardless of who I call or how long I’m on hold, I will only get to talk to an actual person when I’ve just begun the best game of my life. So after my conversation, (which may or may not have solved the problem, I’ll have to wait and see), I have to play a few more games to try and relive the moment that was cruelly snatched from me.

Now that I have less than 1.25 hours, exercise is clearly out of the picture. So is the mall. No reason now to bother looking fabulous. I am, however, appropriately attired for cleaning the house. Maybe a good day to mop. That’s almost exercise. First I’ll have to sweep, especially the crunchy areas around the children’s chairs. And then there’s the confetti of “art projects” (and supplies) bursting forth from the art table. Should I try to match the caps to the markers? Or do I just sweep it all up? Too many large papers to sweep. Probably should put some in the recycling. Can an art project composed of cotton balls, glitter glue, toothpicks and staples go in the recycling? Are any of these precious creations worthy of a spot on the refrigerator? Is there a spot on the refrigerator?

I realize that the refrigerator is a time capsule dating back to spring. I discard the obsolete dentist appointment reminders, memo about the end-of-school picnic, old party invitations and thank you cards. Take down a drawing so old, I can no longer recognize the “bird” that it claims to be. I must have been impressed by it at one time. Also get rid of last year’s mini-calendar from the real-estate agent, and 2 expired coupons for free kids burgers.

Finally heading to get the mop bucket, I notice that I should have left 5 minutes ago. Rush out the door, hit the preschool parking lot running, to arrive breathless at the classroom door just in time to hear my little boy shout, “Mommy!” as he runs to give me a big hug and kiss.

And that’s what I’ve been doing with all my “free time.”

They Who?

Do you know any tough old guys who think it’s funny to say stuff to little kids to make them cry?

Yeah, I do. Was having a picnic lunch with some relatives over the weekend, and my crazy uncle decides to have a little fun with my 3-year-old and 5-year-old. “Santa Claus is dead,” he announces. “They shot him.”

Thanks so much, Uncle Jack*ss. It’s bad enough my 5-year-old already cries at night, “I don’t want to die, like Noni” (her great-grandmother who passed away last year.) I’ve tried to reason with her that she’s only 5, she could live to be 100 and that’s a long time. I try to reassure her with stories about God and Heaven. It hasn’t really helped. She still has a sobbing panic attack if she accidentally swallows some potentially lethal substance, like part of a strawberry stem, or a watermelon seed.

My lessons haven’t gone unheeded though. She’s diligently taught her 3-year-old brother everything I’ve said, and now he’s totally excited about the concept of Heaven. I’m not that excited however, to hear him say, “I wish I was dead so I could see God and be in Heaven.” I try to be calm, and just say, “Not now, darling, mommy would miss you.” But my nerves really can’t handle this.

I don’t think I have the best skill at teaching my children these concepts in an age-appropriate manner. But I am sure “They shot Santa,” is NOT going to help