Dawdling

It’s Wednesday.  Remember Wordless Wednesdays?

Once upon a time, while many others were busy posting an image or a cartoon to take a bit of a blogging break midweek, I was busy finding excuses about why I wasn’t wordless and thinking how could anyone ever be wordless? I made jokes about my seemingly endless stream of whatever came to mind while others took a deep breath.  Looked around.   And although the words are coming now, they don’t add up to much.  I stop to think, searching for something to put here, to have a bit of meaning other than to say what I’m saying.

See?  Not much.

I know I should be wanting to hop on a soapbox about politics, or shake my fist at the injustices in the world.  Complain about the cost of health insurance, or the size of the plastic debris soup “island” growing in the Pacific right now.  I will say we recycle more than we throw away, avoid water in throw away plastic bottles, and reuse as much as we can, but our efforts seem paltry as I observe  effects of others’ unconcerned attitudes.

No, I don’t feel like writing about those things right now.

I chide myself for not getting enough exercise, duping myself into thinking the trips I make up and down my stairs each day a reasonable substitute.  The Wii I asked for and received for my birthday has become more of a cat throne to Her Fatliness than a method for me to slim down, stay limber, or generally sweat all over the floor in our family room.  Perfecting the undiscovered art of completing numerous rolling crunches on the giant ball I sit on when I’m at my Mac has to count for something I justify, along with having finally located my long lost pilates book and managing to remind myself of the correct form for The Hundred I used to dutifully do daily.  Bear in mind there are nearly 2 million hits for that exercise when Googleing it, and I might have considered doing that instead wondering where that book was all this time.

You’re thinking I’m either a lazy good for nothing who watches television all day or is on the verge of being so depressed a pity party is circled in red on my calendar, but you’d be quite mistaken.  I watch television for a couple of hours each night with the MoH who happens to like that part of the day.  We flip channels and talk about his busy day, eat dinner, and enjoy each other’s company.  Since I neglected to purchase a calendar this year, I don’t have a place to mark a pity party date even if I was going to have one.  I conduct my self-pity sessions in private, and they’re a rare event.

I’m busy all day long doing what I enjoy doing.  The problem is, there is too much of what I enjoy, so not much of it gets done.  I haven’t figured out if it’s because everything just takes longer, or because  I dawdle unless something specific demands my time — something that involves others.  Then I put on a good act about being efficient, wishing the entire time I didn’t have to be.  It’s dreadful, but it’s wonderful all at the same time.

I could make up a story and say I believe I’m just settling into retirement, but I know I’ve always been like this.  School, a career, and kids to raise always forced me to stay focused.  If I wanted to squeeze in the things I enjoyed doing, I had to be organized.  Now I don’t.

It’s probably going to be an issue when the trip to New England we’ve got scheduled arrives, because outside of a few pins on a map of places we’re interested in and and a pair of round trip tickets, I haven’t done too much thinking about it.  Somewhere in my brain, I’ve always wanted to travel in a more carefree way instead of making reservations for everything ahead of time, so maybe this is that opportunity.

Right.

The MoH and I will never be good at that sort of thing.  Seems a bit contradictory after all I’ve been saying, doesn’t it?  But with travel, it’s different.  I just don’t want to miss one single thing so I usually scour each place we’ll stay, reading voraciously about the history, the people, the food.  The goal, I guess, is to feel that once I’m wherever we’re going, to try and feel what it might be like to live there.  Sit and watch the people pass by.  Listen and watch.  Admire the simple things different from what we’re used to.

I guess I should get cracking, or I may end up thinking we should have backpacks and sleeping bags for two weeks.  My bones will protest!