Blueberries and priorities

These blueberries are now freezer jam, thanks to careful time management.

I finished a big and stressful work project last week, and was eagerly anticipating having some free time this week to indulge my other activities, which I felt had been languishing too long (also known as my "creative side"). Which is why, come Monday, I found myself stewing in anxiety over the fact that I didn't really want to do anything. I did a bit of cooking and managed a pillowcase for The Boy* and a few other things, but I wasn't wallowing in the things I wanted to do, as I had so clearly envisioned.

And then it occurred to me that I have a lot of things I want to do, and a lot of things I have to do. I have to do all the paid work available, which is often a lot. I'm a single parent. I have a pretty big house to keep on top of, which is no small thing because I am somewhat neat. Unfortunately, no one else who lives here or spends time here is.

And then there are the discretionary items. I planted a large garden because I love the idea of my own food. I just discovered my bread machine. I bought a riding lawn mower because a) I love mowing my lawn and b) I can save myself a few hundred dollars doing it myself. I want to sew, do photography, travel and write. I have a dog. There are two kayaks in the garage.

And then there's the minor fact of my relationship with a guy who is starting his own business while still working full-time at a job an hour away.

And all of you who know me are aware that I require substantial idling time. Time to lie on the grass and stare at the clouds. Time to wander the internet. Time to walk around and work out knotty problems. It takes a lot of idling to support an active life. And that is clearly what was missing on Monday. But what to do, when limited to a scant 24-hour day?

I guess you can't really have it all. Or maybe you can, just not at the same time. So I've decided to ratchet down my list, which, because I am me, has been difficult, but necessary. I have decided that the garden is the lowest priority. The peppers were giving me the finger anyway, so screw 'em. I'm tired of coaxing their finicky green asses out of the carefully amended soil I planted them in.

I informed T this morning that, because neither of us ever has any time to actually put clean clothes away, we will henceforth be living out of (neatly placed) laundry baskets. Because T is not the kind of guy for whom domesticity is particularly resonant, this edict was greeted with all the resistance of someone who'd just been told he won the lottery.

The Kid will be getting more chores. He has mastered the art of cleaning mirrors, and for a buck to spend on piddly junk that will further clutter my house, he'll be willing to clean the dog snot off the sliding glass doors.

That's a start, anyway. And a good one, because today, blueberries are my priority. Freezer jam, muffins, and perhaps ice cream. We picked five pounds of them last Sunday and they are languishing in the refrigerator. And we can't have that.





*New vernacular, just to be clear. My son is still "The Kid". "The Boy" and "The Girl" are T's son and daughter. Collectively, we refer to them as "The Onions" for reasons that might take too long to explain. When we are all together, we constitute "The Murder." As in, a murder of crows.