BUSY, BUSY

I admire busy people. They have full lives. They need things like little pocket calendars or scheduling apps on their electronics. They have things like appointments. They bustle around all day and come home exhausted. I used to be one of those people. I had a career. I had two little girls. I made lunches and family dinners, and I even went on business trips.

Now I don’t have those things. Well, my girls didn’t die or anything; they just grew up and left. I don’t have a job anymore, because I retired. I hate cooking. So while the rest of the world is rushing around being busy, here is what I do:

Get up at around eight in the morning. Stumble downstairs and make a huge cup of coffee and perhaps some cereal. Oh, all right. Always make cereal, because cereal is one of the world’s most delicious and easy meals. Get a napkin. Put the New York Times under one armpit, and carefully carry coffee, cereal, and paper back to bed. Eat and read. At nine, sigh loudly; put all papers and the bowl on the floor. Doze off.

Wake with a start at ten thirty. Sit up quickly, and then fall back down in the bed dramatically, sighing and wondering what to do today. Mentally make a list of important tasks:

I could vacuum. Nah.
I could do a little laundry. Nah.
Maybe I need to straighten up a little. Nah.
I do need to water the plants on the deck. OK.
Oh, gosh. What about exercise? I’ll go to the gym. Yes.
Good grief. My gym clothes are dirty. I’ll run a load real quick. Nah.
What should we have for supper? I could look for a good recipe. Nah.

This continues until I have a nice list of one actual activity. I get up and floss and brush, and then contemplate my wardrobe:

I could wear jeans and iron a blouse. Nah.
I could put on some Capri pants, a polo shirt, and my Pandora bracelet. Maybe.
Makeup makes me look younger. Nah. Not going anywhere.
Perfume. Yes! So I don’t have to take a shower.

Once attired, I go downstairs. What to do first? Oh, right. I decided that I have to water the deck plants. I do this. Then I look around. Nothing. I begin brainstorming anew:

I could use the Swiffer. Nah.
The dog needs to be brushed. A potential.
There might be a good movie on HBO. Interesting thought.
Wait! A manicure and a pedicure! DONE.
Dash upstairs for a little blusher and lipstick. It does make me look younger.

On the way to the nail salon, I look into the other cars, and I see harried people, talking on cell phones, speeding through yellow lights, and honking at slow drivers. These people probably all have scheduling apps on their phones and convoluted business and social lives. I used to be just like them. I was busy, busy, busy.

But yesterday, I missed my massage appointment. I had it written down on a little card and everything. I overslept.

Maybe I do need one of those apps, after all…

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