Fear and Trembling
I nearly had a heart-attack yesterday when I thought I’d lost the check from my Christmas Club account! I was at work when I first missed it, and, after tearing up my briefcase and my purse looking for it (unsuccessfully), I was in a panic until quitting time, when I could go home and look for it on my desk. It was there. I was SO relieved…I just can’t tell you.
I spent last night picking pomegranates and paying bills. I also made a plan for how I’m going to get the house back on track. I’m so tired of living in the chaos and mess. At least, as my former housekeeper used to tell me, it’s clean clutter. She would tell me that my house was not nearly as bad as some places she went. One place didn’t wash dishes — they left them for her — so she’d come in to clean once a week and have scads of nasty dishes to clean. I do keep the kitchen fairly clean. And food isn’t allowed in other parts of the house, so there aren’t any dirty dishes in other rooms. And we empty the trash cans at least once a week (the one in the kitchen is emptied daily), so there isn’t a lot of garbage lying about. But there’s one heck of a lot of clutter.
Tonight, after I take my older son to basketball practise, I’m going to fold laundry. If I really work at it, I should be able to finish it tonight. Then I can put away the folding tables and focus on getting all the papers and books put where they go. And the rest of the week is planned out much the same way. I have a checklist of all that needs to be done, and I am trying to have everything checked off by Saturday night at 7:00. Then I can spend all day Sunday with the kids and my church responsibilities without feeling the nagging of the house-stuff at the back of my mind.
My new friend has agreed to look at my little song to see what can be done. I’m nervous. It’s not written down, so I will have to play it for him, and I don’t play very well. It’s also got the world’s most boring accompaniment, which he’s probably expecting as I told him it was nothing but a basic chord progression, but playing it that way makes me feel silly — like a little kid all excited about playing Bach’s Minuet in G or something equally simple. And, I suppose, it’s like submitting something you’ve written to an editor: you want them to be honest, but you really would prefer that their honesty take the form of praise — as opposed to hearing that your “baby” is really worthless drivel.