I'm nearing the end of my mandatory 100 day break from work. I planned to accomplish so many things -- write a book, organize the house, convince my children to sleep by themselves -- and it seems that all I managed to do was compile a longer list of things that need to be accomplished.
Time is funny that way -- as soon as you get some it's gone. Because we all have responsibilities to something other than ourselves -- even narcissists aren't the center of their universes. There's the big stuff -- family and friends and pets that require our constant attention; but the smaller random things like sleeping and eating and hygiene and viruses and telemarketers are the ones that kill me.
Imagining all of the time I'd have if I didn't require sleep or bathroom breaks or food -- if I never got sick -- makes me envious of robots.
My editors used to ask me in advance of deadline how much time I was budgeting for sleep, otherwise I carried on like I really had 24 hours to complete my assignment. Perhaps it's the ADD, but I consider the requirements and functions of breathing rather inconvenient in the day-to-day business of getting stuff done.
So my physical record of accomplishments these past 100 days is lighter than I'd like it to be -- I accomplished lots of things that can't be measured on paper.
What I accomplished:
- I did Lily's hair every morning, and rushed her out the door with lots of help from Grandma.
- I changed I-don't-know-how-many dirty diapers -- wet and chunky.
- I wrote a lot of copy that I haven't had time to read.
- I fought with Jerod a lot about the right way to do things and the wrong way -- apparently my way is always the wrong way. I don't agree, but Jerod cries so loud it's easier to let him win.
- I watched Gnomeo and Juliet and Tangled more times than anyone should.