If someone were to ask me to list my best skills, I do not believe "clock management" would figure in the top 100. I don't usually work ahead. I don't pack for a trip until the night before I go, often waiting until the wee hours of the morning, leaving myself barely three or four hours of sleep before I have to drive to the airport. I don't dress for parties until the last possible minute, so that I don't have a surplus of time in which to get sweaty or covered in cat hair. And I can't tell you how many of my best college papers were completed less than an hour before class started. It's the way I work best. Without the burst of adrenaline making me move, making me think on the fly, I don't seem to do as well. I thrive on the stress.
So I find myself now in a very unusual situation. I'm ahead on the nesting phase of waiting for the man to arrive. My friend and I made much progress on the house yesterday, and I know I have more help coming in the days ahead. I don't know what to do with myself. Panic cleaning is part of the intricate dance of life, yet here I am with very little left to do. Athena seems to notice that the floor is unusually free of debris, and is trying to be helpful, throwing everything not tied down to the floor, even when I am standing right in front of her. Or maybe especially when I am right in front of her. The geriatrics are illustrating the need for me to switch to "sensitive stomach" foods, in bold, splashy graphic art installations of vomit. But overall, there is less to keep me busy than there would normally be at a time like this.
And so I find myself watching the clock instead, with my heart in my throat, and my muscles twitching as if I were considering dancing frantically to today's song. He is supposed to be here in less than a week, if the creeks don't rise, and I am ticking off the seconds, ready to pretend for two weeks that we are a normal married couple, who wake up next to each other like it's no big thing.
We will have very little time together, and lots to accomplish besides getting reacquainted. The whole two weeks will need to be managed carefully, so no time is wasted. I should pretend it is always the last minute, so I don't let the clock run away from me.
(Again, I have no new photos, but I have several recent pictures of the Colorado fur babies that are too good not to share.)
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