Managing Expectations

It is possible, though not probable, that I have never been as sticky grimy gross as I am right now. It, my friends, has been quite a day.

I have made three trips to three different hardware stores - one car ride, two bike rides. I have installed two ceiling fans and switched a light switch. I have done 2/3rds of my grocery shopping. I have taken out the garbage and swept the steps to the basement. I have written a long email, sent to my councillor and two community police officers, detailing the fight at - during which a very drunk woman was punched in the face and kicked in the stomach - and subsequent arrival of street cops to, the House Across the Street (HAS).

I have done this all while sweating.

Because although Shelley pointed out to me that our houses had air conditioning, this once-forgotten fact hit me square in the stubborn spot.

Sometimes I start to say that I'm easy going. But while I am about some things (I'm a good travel companion) and getting better about others, it's more accurate to describe me as some combination of wishy-washy and decision-making impaired. I'm generally content to do what other people are doing, and follow other people's decisions.

Every once in a while, though, something random will hit me exactly the right/wrong way and I'll refuse to do whatever it is. Just because I don't want to, though I may paint reasonable reasons over top of that.

Which means that I refused to turn the air conditioning on until a few minutes ago when someone who does not live in, but drinks at, the HAS was talking loudly as they walked down the street and I wanted to hurl both obscenities and something sharp in their direction. Which means that during the worst heat of the day I was installing two ceiling fans on the underside of the floor of my very poorly ventilated attic.

When I wasn't, that is, driving and biking around in the blazing fucking heat getting food and ceiling fan materials.

Which means that I have been covered in at least a thin film of sweat since pretty much 9 this morning. The signpost for schvitzy was waaaaaaaaaaaay way back there. I believe I entered the township of Ripe some hours ago.

The suckerpunch in all this is that I feel like I didn't get very much done today.

For instance: I didn't do any yoga or go for an exercise bike ride; I didn't get all of my grocery shopping done; I didn't get a letter of reference written; I have not yet written a review of two ejaculation books, though I plan to do so as soon as I hit save on this; I didn't get my sheets washed, or the tub cleaned, the compost walked to the garden. I gave up on a float Britannia Bay at about the same time I realized that I was going to have to replace the light switch in the bedroom and that I had no idea how to do that.*

Shelley called mid-afternoon. At one point, she said "But you're always busy! You're so good, you get so much done!" There's no way I could argue with the first sentence, but the second? It was nice to hear, but surprising.

Considering that the list of what I did get done kind of impresses me when it is on the screen and not in my head, I may need to rethink this "what I'd like to get done" list bullshit.

*Very easily, as it turns out.