Gettin' Busy

Today, I feel overwhelmed and dizzy and ditzy and frenzied, like a run-on sentence that tries to convey too much information. Today, I'm not going to reread my post before I slap it up on my site; I'm going to ramble and forget to use punctuation and twist words and phrases into awkward nuances that seem to make sense . . but don't.

I can't stand when people constantly talk about how busy they are, like the rest of us are just sitting around in leisure suits watching dust rain through the room in the light from the window. I seldom feel busy, so I tend to find the people who frequently complain about their hectic lives to be puffed up with self-importance. Not that I don't believe that most people don't have a lot on their plates. Not that I don't feel sympathy for lives that are packed full of obligation. But I'm not talking about people who work taxing jobs while juggling a family, social obligations, housekeeping, bill paying, and then, holidays or surprises. I'm not talking about single parents or college students. I'm not even talking about people who may have inadvertently overscheduled their lives but are matter-of-fact or even cheerful about it. I'm talking about the whiners: people who ALWAYS seem to be busy, and use that busy-ness as a ploy for sympathy or as an excuse to get out of commitments that aren't fun.

Blah, blah, blah. I say that because . . . guess who feels busy right now? Whiney busy, too. Like if you were in the room with me right now, I'd pour you a glass of wine and bitch, for the next two hours, about all of the stuff that I need to get done for Christmas. I would take your hand and walk you to the kitchen table, which is covered with scrapbooking/cardmaking/giftbuilding supplies. I would show you the fresh vegetables that need chopped for the pizza that we're making for dinner tonight. I would make you run your hand across the fireplace mantle so you could agree with me that dust is the devil's snow. I might even show you the stack of bills and receipts and bank statement that I need to sort through, the ring in the toilet, and the teetering yard sale pile that preys on my energy-charged, neurotic mind.

Because my problem is, that every so often, I get that nesting feeling. That feeling where I want things done and I want them perfect and I want them that way NOW.

Every so often, I forget that life is not a race.

Every so often, I forget that it's about "the getting there." The careful creasing of the wrapping paper, the hot water splashing over my hands as I rhythmically scrub the dishes, the smell of onions and garlic as they crackle in olive oil.

I forget that there are no rules. That New Year's cards can be sent instead of Christmas ones. That a toilet with a ring can still be used. That store-bought cookies can taste as nice as homemade ones. That toys should be played with, not picked up.

I forget that those people most important to me understand. That I don't need to get it all done. That a smile is more important than a mopped floor. That a trip to the library is better than chicken cacciatore. That a phone call "thank you" is as good as a hand written one.

There are a lot of people who truly have busy lives. I'm not one of them. I am a simple girl with a short hairstyle who can be showered and out the door in ten minutes. I am a stay-at-home mom with a husband who rolls up his sleeves and cooks dinner and cleans and gives baths.

I am a girl who isn't grateful enough. I'm a girl whose priorities, today, aren't in order.

What I'm going to do, right now, is get busy about being appreciative about what I've got. And get busy feeling sympathy for the people who are really busy.