Too Much Time On My Hands

Sitting here on the patio the scent of hyacinth over-takes me.  The temperatures were in the low 60’s this afternoon, but with the sun hidden deep beneath a wall of clouds, it feels chillier than that. A blanket draped over my legs and another hung over the back of my chair just in case the breeze becomes too much, ensure that I should be able to sit out here for at least another hour — until the winds pick up and the rain that is forecasted finally gives the garden a much-needed shower.

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I’ve spent the day pondering all the worthwhile tasks I could be doing with the time I have while nursing my torn meniscus.  Pondering…that’s all.  Whenever I think about actually doing anything, I can’t find the gumption to go any further.

I admit it, I am a procrastinater.  Unless there is a deadline, a specific date and time that something absolutely has to be done, I cannot bring myself to doing it.  To say I work well under pressure…yes, that would describe me.  Give me an hour to complete a task that should take two and I breeze through it without thinking twice. Give me a week to complete a task that should take an hour, and well, typically I won’t even start it until there is nothing else I could possibly do other than that.

I don’t like being a procrastinater and yet I can’t pull myself out of this funk I’m in to do much of anything other than fret about all the things I should be doing/could be doing/would be doing if I didn’t have so much darn time on my hands!

It’s just after 5 o’clock and everyone is inside taking a nap.  Hubby came home from work, ate dinner, then headed upstairs for a nap.  Zeb came home from the gym, ate dinner, then went to his room to check his eyelids for cracks.  Grace came home from work, took Bell for a walk, ate dinner, and then went to her room to “relax” which is sleep in Grace-speak. I have sat home all day, alone, waiting for someone, anyone to come home, and then when they do, they all take a nap. Needless to say, I am a bit bitter here.

Contact with anyone other than Bell today has taken up less than an hour of my time.  Heck, I spent more time making dinner than anyone has spent with me.

Bell on the other hand, well she can’t seem to get enough of me.  She has brought me every stick she could find in the yard and chewed them to bits wherever I might be sitting.  There a shreds of wood all over the great room, office, dining room, kitchen, and especially out here on the patio. She has also confiscated every garden glove from my gardening bin, which I inadvertently left open after retrieving a trowel to break up some dirt for a pot earlier today. If I don’t go on a gloving expedition, I’ll be out every pair of garden gloves I own.  Not that this would be any great loss as Bell seems to think chewing a hole in at least one finger, usually two, is standard procedure for garden glove care.

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No one will probably get up until after 7 p.m. at which time I will be ready to wind down and start thinking about going to bed.  Hubby will sit with me for a few minutes before heading to the gym; Zeb will get a glass of something to drink then retreat back to his room to play his video game; and Grace will sit with me wherever I am but will have her mind completely preoccupied with texting her boyfriend (why she bothers sitting with me, I don’t even know).

Being laid up is difficult enough without feeling if I didn’t make dinner, I’d probably never see anyone.

Yep, it’s been one of those days.  A day where I’ve had way too much time to sit around and feel sorry for myself.  A day when I feel totally alone, except for this fuzzy dog sitting between my legs on the lounge chair, gnawing on my garden glove, happier than a pig in slop that I’m not gardening, washing dishes, folding laundry, dusting tables, making beds, or sweeping floors.

It’s funny, but when I’m busy I don’t notice how much time I spend alone and it doesn’t seem to bother me.  Take me off my feet for a few days and I’m ready to lock all the doors and windows and hold the family hostage until they can convince me I’m more than just the cook around here.

I know what I’m feeling.  I’m feeling sorry for myself. So much so that tomorrow this sitting around and nursing my knee is going to have to stop.  There is something to be said for maintaining my sanity at the cost of a little aggravation in my knee.  For the good of the family I think it’s best I find an easier way to mend my torn meniscus. Or else they are just going to have to actually spend some time with me which with the “mama’s not happy so whatcha gonna do about it” attitude that has replaced my usual cheery self (okay, cheery might be a stretch), I’d go with the get off your duff and do something.

For the moment though, I am doing my best to enjoy the chattering of the birds, the scent of freshly cut grass, and the solitude that once is gone I’ll miss — and for this I am trying ever so hard to be — Simply Grateful.

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