The Visible Woman...December 2, 2003

Wherein I realize that I feel more behind than ever...even when I wasn't retired.

How can it be? It's December. I've thought about a holiday mailing but not gotten very far. I've made little or no progress on all my 'clean up and simplify' projects. Heck...I haven't become to consider 'year end tax planning' and haven't even gotten the budget calculations done for November.

I'm retired and I'm supposed to be in control. But I'm never ahead of the game.

Either I'm just lazy or my priorities are skewed to the invisible.

Yeah, that's it. It's possible to see that I haven't tidied up or organized my office, that there are still piles of junk in the garage to go through. It's clear that things are undone, maybe even unconsidered. You can look in the fridge or pantry and think 'boy...need to clean that out!"

But what you can't see (and I don't always acknowlege) are books read, pictures taken, this journal (well, you can but who does?). You can't see all the hours in the gym. (Well, you sort of can if you look closely at my body and remember how, um, much rounder and flabbier it was.) You can't see the hours spent doing these things.

Still...maybe my priorities are wrong. Maybe I should get busy with more visible (and some would say more important) things. Maybe.

we are simply moving that wall and window	How did it get to be December? Wherein I realize that I feel more behind than ever...even when I wasn't retired. How can it be? It's December. I've thought about a holiday mailing but not gotten very far. I've made little or no progress on all my 'clean up and simplify' projects. Heck...I haven't become to consider 'year end tax planning' and haven't even gotten the budget calculations done for November. I'm retired and I'm supposed to be in control. But I'm never ahead of the game. Either I'm just lazy or my priorities are skewed to the invisible. Yeah, that's it. It's possible to see that I haven't tidied up or organized my office, that there are still piles of junk in the garage to go through. It's clear that things are undone, maybe even unconsidered. You can look in the fridge or pantry and think 'boy...need to clean that out!" But what you can't see (and I don't always acknowlege) are books read, pictures taken, this journal (well, you can but who does?). You can't see all the hours in the gym. (Well, you sort of can if you look closely at my body and remember how, um, much rounder and flabbier it was.) You can't see the hours spent doing these things. Still...maybe my priorities are wrong. Maybe I should get busy with more visible (and some would say more important) things. Maybe.
JUST TYPING Time compresses. As a year. Becomes less of your life. And speeds by.
		Food Diary. *breakfast* nothing *lunch* Two pieces of leftover pizza. *snacks* some small candies (a Twix, a Snickers and three fruity things and an almond kiss) some (well a lot) of dry cereal (Puffins) *dinner* chili (canned) with tortilla chips, cheese, chopped white onion Shiner Bock Today I - was definitely on my patented 'all cheese' diet.
		Time flies.... Spent a lot of time making a birthday card thing for my sister's 60th. It involved a box, decorated, with six insert sheets, each decorated with pictures and an envelope with inserts. There was a workout and time talking to the developer. Had to do the laundry and dodge the maid who wasn't much help today. I had to remake the bed. We went to a meeting that lasted an hour and a half.

		Reading. Finished Franklin and Winston: An Intimate Portrait of an Epic Friendship. I also started Warmly Inscribed by Lawrence and Nancy Goldstone. It's a really good book about book collecting. Now I want to read their other books. [Ed. note: Author of this piece is not a book collector. She doesn't pay any attention to edition or signature. She intends to read and reread. So she likes good quality paper and covers because it's pleasant to read such a book. But she does not, repeat does not, collect books. Still she likes to read about people who do.]on Meacham on bike.
		I realized at some point in the last couple of days that I consider not only this journal but my childish contraptions of ink jet printout and rubber cement art. I even consider it important. Even though I know that I will never get any money for either. (Oh, yeah, one day I could be famous, right?, and then something and pixeled together or glued together could be valuable. Um, no. I don't believe that.) But I do believe that I just have to do this stuff for some reason. There it is.
		Exercise thirty-one minutes recumbent bike chest, shoulders, triceps exercises twenty-one minutes recumbent bike
	. .	same old, same old [Ed. note: this section works better in real time and I'm in 'catch up' mode.]
	It's a Tangled Web we weave...these days of our lives.	One year ago "Where did my day go? Sure, I checked a few things off the list but it sure seems like there is a time thief on the loose. Oh, well. Tomorrow is also a day as a friend of mine says." Two years ago "At the bottom of the menu, it thanks us for patronizing a locally-owned taco bar. Well, there is that."