I had such high hopes for this past weekend. I was going to get stuff done, lots and lots of stuff. Saturday morning I made a list. I am somewhat reluctant to admit that I made this list on a fresh notepad because I could not find the list I made the last time I was going to get lots and lots of stuff done. Sunday night I looked at the list and felt frustrated because there were so many things left undone. I really thought I could power through and cross everything off in two days.

I did get more than half of the items done. I went to the library. I got my car’s oil changed. I put the vacation pictures on the PC and charged the camera battery. I entered our cash expenses for the last two weeks into Quicken. I wrote entries for Holidailies. I painted my toenails (with a Sally Hansen Diamond Strength polish that turned out a bit less rich in hue than I expected) and colored my hair (with Revlon Colorist shade 60 Light Brown to cover my grey). I switched purses. I saw The Lion King (yes, I put that on the list, because it was going to take a chunk of time). I shoveled what felt like tons of snow. I changed the sheets. I went grocery shopping. So it’s not like I sat around all weekend watching tv and knitting (though I did do a little bit of that).

Maybe if I’d slept less or multi-tasked more I could have finished up some of the other things. Like the laundry. I did a lot of laundry, but there are still three or four loads left unwashed, and nothing’s been put away. Granted it was three weeks’ worth piled up, but still, there are only two of us; that shouldn’t be so many clothes I can’t deal with them given a whole weekend. Or the mail. I didn’t go through the stuff on the desk. I didn’t even put the stuff on the counter on the list. Or the baby quilt. I did do a little bit of sewing, but nowhere near enough to complete the top, much less start the quilting.

I wouldn’t be so bummed about not getting it all done this weekend if I felt like I could make real progress during the week, but I don’t see that happening. I think I should be able to get more done in the evenings, but somehow they seem to be entirely consumed by just the normal stuff, like exercise and dinner and maybe talking to my husband a little bit. And I don’t even have kids or pets. I feel like I’m doing this wrong. My life is not that complicated. Why can’t I manage it better?

One year ago today, I was in Utah, not writing.

Two years ago, I was in Wyoming, but managed to post a few words about ice.

Three years ago, I finished a baby quilt. Check out that asymmetry.

Four years ago, I shared commuting highlights.

Five years ago, I swore at my laptop.