Wednesday, Oct. 11, 2006
Follow the Bouncing Bawl
Just sing this to the tune of Carly Simon's Anticipation:
♬ ♪ ♫
I'm always a-way-ay-aitin'
♬ ♪ ♫
Actually I'm not a procrastinator, despite what I've claimed in the past. MC, however, sometimes drives me nuts with his tendency to put off until never what he can do today.
Case in point: he finally got around to emailing his ex's daughter to try and track down his ex, so we can either serve her with divorce papers or get on with serving her by publication if we can't find her.l Meanwhile, Captain Obvious is there smacking us in the face with a dead mackerel.
Turns out MC has the daughter's phone number and could just CALL her, which would obviously be the more practical and FASTER method. Which, I might add, he'll probably have to do in the end, anyway, and could have done months ago if he'd bothered.
I love the man to pieces but I swear I'm going to lose patience one of these days because his procrastination can be an expensive problem. He's slow about EVERYTHING, really. It is taking him weeks, even months, to build a site that would take me a few days, tops, on top of my regular job. Okay, I have to retract that because this time around he's putting together some very sophisticated scripting and I couldn't do it at all with my current level of expertise. Then again, I haven't had months to learn the building language. He has.
We talked tonight about the fact that I simply cannot keep working like I've been doing, though, and the options we've got to change that. I've been forced into the mold of a workaholic; it's not my nature but it's been a necessary fact of my life since I was about six years old. When I was a kid there were NO days off, NO vacations, and in fact precious little recreation of any kind.
When I was in junior high and high school, my weekends were work all day Saturday and church ALL day Sunday. We went to church Sunday morning; came home and ate lunch and went to a different church Sunday afternoon; and went straight from that church back to our other church Sunday night. I was expected to teach a Sunday School class at both churches and was the church organist from the time I was about sixteen, for those times I wasn't teaching. We also had church Wednesday nights and occasionally had revivals where we went to church EVERY night for a week or two. Even church meant work for me.
Daytime, of course, I in school and/or doing all housework and cooking and laundry and taking care of my baby sister.
So when I say I am preconditioned that my only value is in work, I am not exaggerating.
That kind of life takes a mighty heavy toll after a while. Rosie has commented about my looking like something that belongs in a graveyard, particularly by the end of the week. She was a little more tactful than that but she was right. By the end of the week I pretty much don't give a shit if I live or die.
I talked today to one of the local radio stations. I didn't go in with the thought in mind of applying for a job, but they are looking for a station manager. I think my jaw hit the floor, after which I promptly picked it up and backed out slowly, watching to be sure they didn't lock me in.
The fact that I reacted by recoiling ought to tell you a lot.
I'm so damned tired, it's not funny. It's almost impossible for me to separate myself from work. I am my work and my work is me; it's what it's always been. I'm not sure how I'd fare without working, but I know I've got to cut things back to a more reasonable level before it kills me. And at this rate, that could be next week or sooner.
We're talking with a local photographer about doing their website in trade for them doing our wedding photography. If we put the time and a little money into advertising and building up our web business, I'd like to think I could do that part time and actually (*gasp*) take some time off now and then. Maybe I could check out that word "vacation" and find out what it means.
But before any of this can happen, we've got to get through MC's divorce and get his ex fully out of the picture.
Which brings us full-circle to the master procrastinator.
Even after all of that is handled, though, I am afraid to count on MC to do what he says he'll do. I think he will... eventually... but in the interim it's still good old Radiogurl picking up the slack, just like I've always done. That's my biggest fear. I've supported two husbands who wouldn't work at all. MC is very different in personality than they were, granted... but his dominant procrastination gene scares the living crap out of me.
Add to that the lovely ka-ching of not one but TWO payments that bounced, and we have one hell of an unhappy Radiogurl tonight. So much for either the chiropractor or upping Diaryland this week...
Before - After
In the grander scheme of things, no soul can truly be replaced. Each one of us has a place in the universal tapestry. We each contribute our own color and texture. When one thread is snipped too soon, it distorts all the threads around it. Other lives can unravel and tear. If the wrong thread is ripped away, the whole fabric of life becomes dangerously fragile.
- LeiLani, aka Radiogurl aka Bright Opal (1957 - )