It’s 9 a.m. I’ve finished Wordle, read the latest obits in the area, and scrolled through Facebook. The world outside my living room window is chugging along: cars whizzing here and there, people on their way to complete tasks and make a living.
Not me. I can’t. I have a doctor’s appointment at 2:30 p.m.
When I woke up this morning, I knew my day was already booked. I made the appointment weeks ago, and even though it’s just a routine check-up, I want to be in tip-top shape for it.
I will need to wash my hair. I don’t want to do it too soon, because I want it to look nice AND last for the next few days. If I wash it early in the morning, I’ll sweat and make it frizzy, and it will look as though I just rolled out of bed and schlumped to the appointment like a slob.
Too early now. I figure right after lunch. Lunch should be around 11, to make sure I have wiggle room in case of last-minute disasters.
So. It’s 9 a.m. That’s only 2 hours until my day gets busy. What can I really do in two hours? I look around the room, choosing to ignore the crumbs in the carpet and clutter on the coffee table.
No use going crazy on cleaning when I’ll just have to stop soon.
I could throw some clothes in the washer. Then I remember that I feel uneasy about letting the dryer run when I’m not home. If things aren’t dry by the time I go, and I leave them piled damp there, they might get musty. I’d have to wash them again. Waste of water.
The TV reflects my image on its dark screen. I usually don’t watch anything during the day, because I’m a whirlwind of activity on days I don’t have an appointment looming.
But today? I’m just sitting here, waiting. The remote is RIGHT THERE. And I can pause any show, anytime, should I decide to do a quick task. It’s good to keep my brain engaged. Otherwise, I’ll be sitting here like a medicated mental inmate, staring at the second hand on the clock.
I click the remote and start looking around. By the time I find something to watch, 10 minutes have already passed. See how time flies? There is no way I can do anything of importance this morning and risk messing up my schedule.
After a bit of slack-jawed viewing, I decide to get up and at least tidy up the kitchen. The sink has a few bowls and cups in it, but I don’t feel like doing that. I feel a little grit beneath my socks near the back door. Ought to sweep.
I grab the broom and dustpan, sighing at the multitude of chores I face EACH AND EVERY day. And with this day lost, the squalor I live in will only be worse tomorrow. I lean into the task like a charwoman.
Once the floor is grit-less, I check the time. I trudge to the fridge and check out my lunch options. How old is that bologna? Do I want to microwave something from the freezer? Why am I so sick of every food in this house?
Now, I’m getting stressed out. That won’t be good for my blood pressure reading later. I need to stay calm and sedentary so the doctor will have nothing to “discuss” with me.
I slap some bologna onto bread and flop onto the couch. House Hunters is waiting. The wealthy, whining couple in Paris have chosen their chic apartment, and they are strolling down cobblestone streets with all the time in the world.
I don’t. My day is totally booked. All I have to do is wait until it starts, at 2:30 p.m.
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Contact Robin at robinwrites@yahoo.com.
