Today is National Day on Writing and Information Overload Day. Both fitting for me. This morning I finished a solid draft of my story for Saturday’s event (is it National Procrastination Month?), so feeling much better about that. I settled for a story I wrote for a blog in 2016, putting a twist on it to fit the story night’s theme. As for Information Overload: ALWAYS. And today was especially trying for the old grey matter. I hardly got much work done because 6 workmen were in the basement finishing the flooring and all the other details, which they’re supposed to wrap up by Friday. Every half hour one of them interrupted me to ask where do I want the towel bars set? Did I know where the cabinet door pulls were? What about the spare light bulbs, and which room did I want the dimmer switches in, again? Should they leave the spare boxes of flooring in my garage or the basement? What type of laundry tub do I want? On and on. Meanwhile the project manager is out on family leave until late next week. I even made a trip to Home Depot to select my preferred laundry tub, only to—probably—settle on the same style I had in the basement before and which is now in my backyard repurposed for a vegetable washing basin. After warning the contractor that if he installed a new version of that tub, which I never liked because it was too cheap, I would really be mad, I fear I will have to backtrack, seeing as how that model is probably the best one of my readily available choices.
All this on top of trying to wrap up business on my current team in preparation for transferring to the new team and fretting over memorizing my story for Friday’s live storytelling and refining my story for Saturday night, which thankfully I don’t have to commit to memory because it’s online and I’m pretty good at reading like I’m not reading.
Phew! It’s enough to drive a poor woman to the cemetery. For a walk, of course. Chestnut Grove has a way of soothing the soul. Despite feeling the crunch of impending—unending—stuff to do over the weekend on top of two consecutive nights’ storytelling shows, I’m ready for a beach vacation. Fortunately, though not at the beach, I am taking all next week off work, to, uh, work. At least my new basement will be in order. Despite it all, I’m pretty chill, considering that 10 years ago I’d be intolerable to live with, rushing around barking orders and overdoing it myself. I missed my calling as a drill sergeant.