I could think of my life as two lists
(which in itself is sick)
called "Stuff I have to Do"
and "Stuff I love to do"
and all activities are entered
into one of these lists.
You might find the dentist appointment
on the first list
and "go dancing" on the second,
for example. . .
This is all subjective as some people
may actually prefer a root canal to dancing
but you don't want to know these people.
Something I have noticed
like a slap to the head
is that lately even the things I love to do
are drifting over to the Worklist--
that is so messed up!
Enjoying a winter walk has become
"getting some healthy exercise,"
laying around with Hubby is now the dreaded
"increasing marital intimacy,"
and drawing is called "fulfilling my creative potential."
My anxiety about having fun
has become so stressful
that fun is no longer fun
and thus the Funlist is just another
neurotic guilt trip
Today is my day off
and, true to form, lately,
I sorted papers and bundled up garbage
while making the coffee,
tidied up the living room
while cooking eggs,
noticing that three more hours
of housework would be a mere beginning,
made some quick phone calls
while making toast,
turned off the screaming smoke alarm,
then sat down to my black breakfast,
wondering if I'm losing my mind.
Sit down, girl, breathe,
I tell myself,
think about what's really important.
Some women keep a tidy house
but they don't phone their lonely friends--
I take pride in the fact
that I am not one of those,
as I sweep a pile of junkmail off the table
so I can write a card to Mary.
By Julie Paquette
[other writings by Julie can be seen in her pages on the left, under Lookee Here]