You’ll have to pardon this post. It’s nothing, really.
My minds a mess. I started the week light and breezy and someone I’m here, on a Wednesday afternoon chasing more deadlines that I thought were possible at the start of the week. I have some home stuff to set right. And I have to do it all and get to dinner with the girls. And I cannot be late because I’m driving hahaha
I don’t know how I am once again in this spot – in my head it was all beautifully chalked out. I’d chip away at all the things I needed to get done by this evening, little by little, efficiently. And then I’d go out to dinner on Wednesday. Wake up the next day and begin my long weekend. And yet, here I am. I ambled through little bits, and the bulk of it remains to be done. On Wednesday evening.
I’ve procrastinated on a telephone call I desperately needed to make. In my defence, I tried multiple times yesterday, which is when it was scheduled for. Goa being the way it is, I didn’t get through and eventually gave up. I had every intention of knocking it off this morning. But somehow I dilly-dallied until 4 pm.
I was never very good with telephone calls. Discounting a couple of years in my teens, long before cellphones, when I behaved like the landline was an appendage growing out of the side of my face. I have grown to really hate telephone calls. Messaging is non-intrusive, its non-confrontative. It’s easy. Why do people call me?!
This is a tragic predicament, though. Because literally all my work begins with a telephone call. Especially interviews. I’m overjoyed when people tell me they prefer email, because a bulk of it gets done without even having to dial a number. No transcribing either! And then I can save the telephone call angst for clarifications, which are easier because they’re precise and I can get straight to it. In and out, done.
Anyway, so I haven’t made the telephone call yet. Things I have done instead:
– Spent an extra 20 mins at the gym
– Helped my cook make lunch
– Ate an early lunch
– Finished writing a whole other story
– Ate a snack (because I had an early lunch, remember?)
– Folded a big pile of laundry
– Changed sheets and pillow covers (houseguests tomorrow!)
– Checked footstep count and paced up and down to round it off to the nearest 100
And now I have to make that bloody call. Urgh.
Okay. I did. It was long, but it wasn’t that painful. It never is, it’s just getting to the point of making the call that is pure torture. Once I’m on the call and on my way, I’m good. Getting there can feel like an absolute age.
You know what else feels like an age? Ten years. I have an anniversary coming up. Which made me realise I’ve known the husband ten years now. TEN YEARS. That’s practically a third of my entire life. Of the ten, we’ve been together for practically 9.5.The realisation felt immensely staggering when it occurred to me. I’m not quite sure why, though. My memories are mostly stacked in large chunks of time periods, prefixed and suffixed by important life events, usually. And a decade of something feels like a long time, right?
What is it about time that puffs on gently, slowly swelling every little day, when suddenly you look back and see it in it’s endless enormity. Like a thick, billowing, trail of smoke that you can’t look beyond.
And what is it about time that makes it collapses into an abyss so effortlessly? Weeks are going by, and I feel like it was January just not too long ago. How is it that August is almost over? Where are the days going to die? How are we already on Wednesday, inching closer to the weekend already? Didn’t I only just talk about a weekend?
It’s part of the reason I went into a flap today. S gets here tomorrow for another long weekend of shenanigans, and I wanted to ensure my work is wrapped up so we can chill completely, preferably away from home and the need to be near a laptop and an internet connection.
At one point this afternoon, the possibility of that happening was looking very, very bleak. But guess what, you guys?
I’m done! I managed to finish. And I’m so ready for the weekend.