Busy Is As Busy Does ...
I have been crazy-busy this week. Somehow, most of the projects on which I work for, you know, my job, all seem to be active at once. As I am the only editor, and everything that goes out the door needs to be seen by me (in theory; sometimes my boss runs out of time and gives a presentation without my having seen it, a situation which nearly gives me hives), I have been keeping approximately eleventy million balls in the air lately.
I've also taken on some side projects in the past few months, one of which just keeps resurfacing, just when I think there's no more to do. And of course, this was the week when there was more to be done.
But here's the reprehensible part: At night, when I finally shut down my PC (I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Mac gal, but I have a PC for work), after the sun has set, far beyond any respectable dinner hour, when I should collapse on the couch or do something that requires no brain power, I find myself instead looking for other things to do.
I just ran to put some gas in the car so I won't have to deal with that tomorrow. (It is criminal that $10 didn't buy me three gallons of gas. But it was amusing that everyone else at the gas station seemed to be putting in about the same amount as me.)
Earlier, in taking a break between finishing up a "real job" project and embarking on a "side job" task, I ran an errand. Earlier still, between "real job" phone calls (of which I've had 4,000 this week), I suddenly felt compelled to wash the bit of wall next to my desk. (It looks much better now.)
And now I'm thinking I should do dishes. Or throw on some laundry. Maybe change my sheets.
All of which leaves me asking myself: Who the hell am I?! Where did my loafy alter ego go? What's the deal with this sofa aversion?
I have three movies from Netflix, dammit. They're not going to watch themselves.
Then again, I guess it's best to make hay while the, uh, moon shines. These bouts of domestic enthusiasm – or compulsion – don't happen every day.
I just don't get why my brain has chosen this week of all weeks to be restless. You'd think after a crazy-long, stressful day, my mind would welcome the opportunity to power down.
I blame the writers. There's nothing good on TV.