||[May. 5th, 2010|05:07 pm]
Yeah, well, until Virginia Faire is over, I should re-title this blog "Sporadic Thoughts" because that's about all I have time for. (ATMs, Trash, Ice, Sheds, Lumber orders, Tents, Mowing, Schedules, Programs...expletive, expletive, expletive. Deep breath. Start over)|
But still, non-faire and work stuff still builds up.
This post brought to you by: The Bearded Iris. That's what's sustaining me now. I have a vase on my desk full of Bearded Iris, their vague lemony scent wafting periodically over me, the sheer overwhelming volume of their intricacy reminds me that nothing is simple, their rapid two day bud to beginning blossom, to fading to crumpled heap, only to be replaced by the next bud down the stem reminds of that it's all transient, yet there's still a next opportunity for beauty.
(Mind you, these are not the uber-fluffy, ruffly, double-bearded...abominations.)
Plus, the poor things just can't be killed and I admire that. Naturally. I've ripped them out of sections of the garden, but I keep leaving a piece of a single corm behind by mistake and, suddenly, two years later, there's a big bunch of them. In other places, they are not in the sandy soil they prefer, they're overcrowded, they suffer from aphids and root borers. But still, they don't care, up they come, they blossom like mad, they get all chewed up looking and suffer from me and my guests stomping them and...they just keep coming back.
My role models. I just wished I smelled like them. And looked like them. Although that would make it hard to go out to a restaurant.
I am totally in love with the series Torchwood. Even though it was spawned by Doctor Who. (Again, abomination. Sorry, I know some of you like it...but tough. Abomination.) Even though the preternaturally handsome star would probably have to be trapped on an island for decades with a woman before he broke down and even then he'd probably close his eyes. Even though one of the other main characters has less of an upper lip than I do. And another one is missing her eyebrows. And you could drive a semi through the plot holes. And although the special effects are not bad for a television show, they're not really good, either.
Still, I am a hooooooor for quirky dialog and while it takes a couple of episodes to suck you in...well, there I am. Although in truth, part of the love is just the nonchalance-ity of the show's attitude toward sex. Male, female, who cares. And even that's fluid -- this guy starts out with a female girlfriend, who Borgs out and then a season later is falling for another guy. Who's been in a relationship with a male colleague who's now turned into a nemesis of sorts, but still doesn't seem to be ruling out women. Needless to say, skin color and ethnicity never seem to come up as "issues". Again, no one really cares. On the other hand, if you're an alien, you're persona non grata, so I guess it's sort of racist, species-ist, I dunno. But seriously, if you have a clownfish for a head, you're going down.
Plus it's set in Wales. Wales. Who doesn't love that?
Finally, I took a time management class because well, it's the one thing I struggle, struggle, struggle with. (as she writes a post on LJ...nice.) And usually I roll my eyes -- I'm already DOING that! But this last class had a couple of neat tidbits, so it wasn't a complete waste of time, which is always exciting.
But I was sort of blown away by one exercise we did. One of those things where you know it...but you don't REALLY KNOW it. Did several days of logging every freaking minute and then analyzed the patterns. At work -- not even at home -- over half of my work time is uncontrollable. In other words, let's assume I only work an eight hour day. snort. But for the sake of the math....
That means that in any given work day, I only have 4 hours for appointments and scheduled work. The other half is taken up by fire drills, responding to "emergencies", colleagues, customers, suppliers, supervisors, explaining things, dropping everything and dealing with an issue that didn't exist that morning when I did my to-do list.
No wonder I overpromise. Sure, I'll get that done today; I have all day with no appointments, I can knock it right out. But I don't. I have four hours, max. Some days only really 2 or 3 in which to focus on all of the stuff I have to get done. No wonder I blow by deadlines like a Nascar...car...I really shouldn't analogize out of my field....
Is this recognition going to really change my day, help me get more done? No. But I don't have to feel so damned BAD about it, anymore. And that's something.