My life feels rushed sometimes.
Well, all the time, really.
The weekdays are on a pretty strict schedule so that I can get to the gym, get to work, get to school to pick up the kiddo, get home to walk the dog, get the pets fed, get the people fed, get the dishes done and maybe the floors swept if time allows, get the kiddo focused on his homework, get some quality time with him afterward, get stories read, get teeth brushed, get jammies on and start all over again.
It’s not a bad life. But it can be an exhausting one.
When I hit Friday evening, I’m relieved. The pressure is off. The rushing is no longer needed. There’s all sorts of time to get the things done that I didn’t get done Monday-Friday.
But all of that open, unplanned time actually backfires on me. And oftentimes I get NOTHING done. I think I have plenty of time to organize my office, or start a house project, or help Dev with his class project research, or take a long walk to get in some weekend exercise, or make a decent meal. Yet by Sunday evening I’m scratching my head, wondering how on earth it happened to me again.
I’ve decided that I need to plan my weekends. Not down to the minute. But at least with some structure and a basic schedule so that I can check off some of those boxes on my to-do list. This weekend I didn’t exactly get a structure together, but I did accomplish some things, including some time in the kitchen this afternoon. I even pushed the spontaneity envelope and fulfilled my baking itch with a batch ofÂ apple breakfast cookies. The pizzas were planned, though, and even with a minor glitch that I won’t elaborate on (since it would make me look very silly), they came together nicely and delivered with the yummy.