I’ve been home for a couple of days. I love being home. I’m sure I’ve said before how my home is my happy place.
It’s also a source of worry and anxiety at the moment. There are so many half-finished projects here – painting, windows, floors, deck, garage – the list goes on.
Whenever I walk through the doors after having been gone for a while I feel this immense sense of relief and release. Then, after a few hours I start feeling anxious and in need of doing something.
I look around and think – okay, let’s make a list. So, I do. And by the time I’m done I’m so overwhelmed that I don’t know where to start.
Part of the problem is knowing that I won’t be staying for very long. It’s so hard to accomplish anything when you can’t completely focus on the task you’ve chosen.
Because it’s never a situation of having only one thing to do, there’s all the other bits and pieces of life that have to be taken care of as well.
I’m beginning to worry that I’ll ever get anything done. I have great intentions and my desire to get things done is as strong as it ever was. The problem is I can’t seem to muster the requisite energy and the willpower.
I got home Wednesday around noon. After a bite of lunch and a small rest, I took stock. I’d had some vehicle troubles on the way home, so that was priority number one. Then it was heading out to the store for some staples. After that I unpacked, made a couple of calls and decided I’d better get the driveway shoveled. That was my day.
I came in from shoveling thinking I’d have supper and then get started on some other project, but after supper I was pooped. I watched television and drank tea until it was time for bed.
I’m sorry for boring you with such mundane details, but I’m trying to make sense of where my time goes and why I always have this feeling of having not done enough with it.
Yesterday, I got down to cleaning and purging – a task that I’m coming to believe is like living in hell. No matter how much you do there’s still more, and it never seems like you’re making a dent in any of it.
I focused on a bunch of small tasks yesterday – I cleaned out a few drawers, did a bigger grocery run, got my appointments made and posted a bunch of stuff I want to get rid of on buy and sell sites.
Then it was monitoring replies to my posts, getting soup ready for supper and working on finishing up a crochet project I’d started. I wanted to start painting window frames, but. . . by 7 o’clock I was done.
More tv and a few games on my tablet before heading to bed and reading.
It doesn’t sound like much, does it? But I swear, I FELT busy, and I was too tired after supper to seriously think of doing anything more.
I know that much of this has to do with age – it’s a natural progression to slow down. But I’m also fighting with a sense of guilt for not having the kind of energy and enthusiasm I once had for fluffing up my nest.
I’ve got to figure this out.