Monday, August 1, 2011

Eight Minutes

I want to write.  I want to write everyday.  I've always wanted to write.  When I haven't written for a while, I feel all clogged up, ready to spew, or so bogged down that I can barely drag myself about.  So, why has it been so damn hard to find the time--and take it--to write?  I've realized that I've been waiting, quite foolishly, for those long stretches of quiet time to arrive and buffer me from the usual brouhaha before settling in front of the 'puter, uninterrupted hours that have not been mine for many, many years now, and may not come at all.  So, why wait?

Like now, for instance.  I have exactly eight minutes before I must hop into the car and drive about 15 miles south of here to pick up my younger son at soccer camp.  I just arrived home from working several hours about 20 miles north of here--not quite yet a regular gig, and only part-time, but it seems to be consuming a large part of my day--and tossed aside the usual fillers to instead take a stab at an eight minute post.

You know the drill--you arrive home, in between trips, errands, jobs, yadda yadda, and instead of doing anything meaningful, or something that you really want to do, you fill the time with a succession of ridiculous little tasks designed to make you feel more in control of your Time, and, consequently, your Life.  Sweep the porch.  Rearrange the jumble of shoes on the front porch.  Make your kid a sandwich.  Ask him, again, to clean up his room.  Give the dog fresh water.  Brush out the burrs that she's collected during her morning amble.  Switch the laundry.  Fold a few towels.  Flush the toilet (a problem in my house).  Move some papers around.  Pay a bill.  Check Facebook.  Wipe the crumbs off the kitchen counters.  Put the cat out.  Again.  Pull a few weeds around the front patio.  Brush your teeth.

Of course, we need to spend some of our time grounding ourselves in our daily rituals, whatever they may be.  And sweeping the front porch has always been one of mine.  But much of the domestic oddities I preoccupy myself with are nothing that I really want to be doing.  I'd much rather shift gears entirely, re-establish writing as a daily ritual, and start giving myself permission to write--whatever, however long--as a filler.  Leave the dishes in the sink.  Forget about trying to start dinner early--I've never been able to do that anyway.  Say this a little bit more often: "Busy!  Make your own sandwich, please!"

My eight minutes are up.  Time to get back in the car, drive over hills and rivers and under stormy skies (am expecting to see the Dark Mark at any second), and back again, jiggety jig.  Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to grab another eight minutes.  It's a worthy goal.  I've got to start someplace.  Might as well be here.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Hi! I came across your page searching for something else and stopped and read a little. I'm so happy things have worked out for you. My own sons are grown, but I remember those days, and yep, you have to stop sometimes to do the things that take some time you don't think you have, but that mean a whole lot to you. Best wishes from another woman and mother. --Anne

Anonymous said...

I hope you don't find this strange, but I just did a google search for National Circulating Company, and a blog you posted back in 2008 showed up. It was eerie to read about your experience with "Joe", because I think the same Joe came to my door about an hour ago.

I decided to look up the company just like you did to make sure it was legitimate. The BBB still rates them very high. I'm kinda curious if you actually ever received your magazines and if there was ever any future problems.

I certainly felt a little bad for the guy. It's 45 degrees out, raining hard and very windy out. I didn't welcome him into my home, but I did pull out a couple of chairs in the garage to talk to him while my four kids and wife stayed in the house. We have a country place, where we don't normally get strangers knocking on the door. It was very funny to see how you and I think a lot alike. He wasn't JW, he wasn't UPS or FedEx... and he said many of the same things that he said to you.... guessing that we were 10 years younger than our actual age...and complimenting our home. He also wanted to make sure I wasn't working too hard.

Three years later and he's doing the same thing..... except now he's working towards an education to be a welder. Sure feels like he's being exploited... or some other monkey business is going on.

Joe mentioned that there is a crew of them combing the countryside, and that his ride comes to get him later in the afternoon.

I renewed my golf magazine and sent him on his way with some hot chocolate in a travel mug. I told him he could keep the mug. He was very appreciative and said that he doesn't get many offers like that.

I hope you take the time to respond to my comment... enjoyed the read, yet I'm very weirded out at the same time.

Mike