I have a saying that I use when I am trying to make a point to someone if I think they need to refocus on the important things in their lives.
“Time to take out the trash,” I tell them. “If you don’t do the things that need to get done, then just like the trash, it will start to pile up.”
It really stinks when you catch yourself needing the same advice. (that pun wasn’t intended, but maybe I shouldn’t admit that and let you think I’m really that quick witted at 6:20 am)
I’ve been really quiet in the last few weeks because I needed to take out the trash. I needed to get the Christmas decorations finished, the gifts purchased, the wrapping done, attend the holiday show, prep for the school Christmas party, deign and print the family Christmas card, and finish projects at work.
Yeah, I know, all of the things you were doing, too.
And it’s stuff I’m usually able to do without going into a black hole of communication.
Although I have, maybe…perhaps…um, ok, without a doubt, completed them all in years past with a little bit (who am I kidding, lots) of spazzing out, stress, and fluster.
So this year’s desire to “take out the (holiday) trash” came from a good place – wanting to enjoy the season more with the girls and Country Boy. It just kept me away from some of the things I like to do.
My fantasy football team was abandoned in midseason (mirroring the Bills and the Browns…).
My camera is collecting dust.
I have at least 6 previous days of newspapers on standby on any given day.
I haven’t any idea who won Project Runway (or who made it to the finals, or who won the last two challenges before the finals). Some day I’ll watch those shows on my dvr.
My treadmill has been a toy shelf more than a piece of exercise equipment.
And my blogging, while going very strong in my mind (what? You can’t read those posts?), they’ve gone nowhere online.
So, maybe now that the Christmas is over, I’ll go back to those mind posts I wrote (they were some of the best writing I have ever done, I promise) and actually write them.
And I’ll start using the treadmill for what it is really designed to do, if anything so I don’t blow out of the few favorite pairs of jeans I have left. The spritz cookies Mom makes are just too good to pass up.
And maybe I’ll finally figure out who shot JR.