I'm torn all the time. I've gotten so much done that I occassionally feel good about it, but most the time I can't even see those things because the things I'm not doing loom large in my sight. Things like returning emails, sending away for Lucy's birth certificate, getting our banking straightened out, getting our piles of papers, mail and manuals put away. Justin put up the bookcases up Thursday night, and Friday I unpacked about twelve boxes of books. This week I think I have two boxes left to unpack. Now that I can see the floor I'll be cleaning in earnest.
But we keep losing things in this small space, which is maddening. Things like our tax software, which I look at the calendar and see it's time to give up the search and repurchase. Also, my tweezers are missing, and I know some of you will shake your heads but my brows are now so bad I can barely go out in public. I so wish I'd stopped in at the salon on Saturday to get them weeded. I finally found my wool coat and apartment keys that went missing a week ago. We just knew it had to be here; we'd seen it one night and it was gone the next morning, and we hadn't even left in between. This weekend I unpacked a brown paper bag that Amelia had filled with toys and there it was, shoved into the bottom.
Which saint do you ask for help when you've lost things? Saint Anthony? I can't remember, but I could certainly use some of that help today.
Well, now that I've confessed a few of the things I'm not doing, all that's left now is to go do them. The quiet in my mind will be worth it.