Instead of waking up at my usual 2 a.m., I slept until 6:30. Somehow I managed to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. I had razor sharp clarity. Is that redundant? I focused on the things said client had been asking about (and frowning about when I put him off), and produced some good "deliverables." In case you don't know, that's corporate-speak for "the shit I promised (or was supposed) to do."
In addition to the compliance stuff, I had a few genius ideas. Unfortunately, my genius spreadsheet (which had worked beautifully at home this morning) had a little snafu, but by then, I was getting into too much detail, so it was ok.
We made some good strategic decisions, and instead of stressing, I listened and thought. And communicated well. So my jokes were well-received (mostly) and I left feeling confident.
Well, I'm sure all this is fascinating, but I'll move along to something with a broader appeal. And explain why I'm feeling so forlorn.
It's late Saturday afternoon. Deb's already come and gone. Kiddo took my bike for a long ride. I'd run, but I don't want to chance hurting my knee. This house is quiet except for the distant sound of The Daddler's tv. I have 16 dozen cans of green beans (Deb & The D went to Sam's with my credit card and without a list, god forbid) on the kitchen floor. So I have this whole weekend stretching out in front of me. Ten million things I could do. But nothing urgent. Or exciting. If The Daddler hadn't had a late lunch with his beloved daughter at Picadilly, I'd think about fixing dinner for him. But he's not hungry. So I made brownies.
The smell is comforting. That's all I want to do. Smell them. Funny thing. I had this weird thought one day. If I had to lose one of my five senses, which would I choose? I went down the list. It was between taste and smell. Tough decision. I settled on taste, thinking I might lose weight. I asked FF what he'd choose. After a little period of deliberation, he said taste. Said 75% of taste is smell. Somehow, it made me like him a little more. Not so much that we had the same answer, but that he thought it through. And that he thought it was an interesting question. Not everyone can think in the abstract.
So, back to reality. I think I need to do something physical. And since I can't risk hurting my knee, I think I'll go work in the yard. Pruning is good therapy for me. I think I'll try the poison ivy block cream I bought, and maybe that'll reduce my anxiety about that. There's still some time on the brownies, so I'll have to ask The Daddler to come get me when the timer goes off. He'll like that. Maybe he'll just have brownies for dinner.
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