I’m not ignoring my blog, I’m really not. I’ve just been snowed under the last few days. I was supposed to have a much easier week this week, but so far, that hasn’t panned out.
The only reason I have a little time right now is because 1) I’m letting my son watch his third installment of “SuperWhy” for the day, thanks to the magic that is TiVo, and 2) I am in a holding pattern, waiting on people to return phone calls and emails so I can keep working on various projects. I’m feeling a little guilty about SuperWhy, but I’m feeling a little antsy about the holding pattern. It’s that classic things-are-out-0f-my-hands-for-awhile phenomenon that makes me feel anxious when I’d really just rather Get Things Done.
I’m a planner, you see. I like to plan. I like to have a plan. I like to make a plan and follow the plan and then, upon finishing the plan, create another plan. Then I follow that plan…ad nauseam. So when I’m dependent on others to get back to me and I genuinely can’t do much of anything else, I develop tappy-foot syndrome. I hear it’s a great weight loss technique. Granted, it may not do much for my overall sanity, but that’s just how I am.
I just hate feeling like I’m stalled out on something, even if I know, rationally, that I’m on track and it’s going to be okay. I think it’s probably a holdover from living my life on deadline when I wrote for a daily paper. You could never be too far enough ahead on anything, and you were always waiting on phone calls or faxes or emails. You always needed someone to call you back or someone to finally, grudgingly, hand over that paperwork. I don’t know whether journalism makes people high-strung or if high-strung people are attracted to journalism, but I do know that it probably made me even more high-strung than I already was. I was constantly anxious. It hasn’t all gone away, either, since I embarked upon the life of a freelancer.
Let’s see…hey, wow, I’ve spent some time writing here, so maybe someone will have….nope, no new emails. Neither phone has rung, either. Tap tap tap tap tap.