Not just a country song

Wasted days and wasted nights, is not just an old country song as I have discovered. I don’t think Freddy Fender was singing about my current life, but it sure does feel like it sometime.  Please tell me I’m not the only one, I really want to hear what you have to say!(Since you are a Boomer, I am assuming you now have that song running through your head, and if you are like me you will have to Youtube Freddy Fender which will lead to other great “Classic Country” stars you have to look up, then on to Spotify to listen to an early Marty Robbins album and then create a new Pandora channel for later).

If you read the “about me” page, you know I am semi-retired. I don’t go to work until 10:00 a.m. and get off at 2:00 p.m. Yep, anyway you look at it I work four hours a day. And to top it off, I don’t work weekends. So, I’ve got plenty of time to get stuff done. Ha! Then why do I feel so out of control? Could it be that over the years I have developed laziness to a fine art? Heaven knows I have really honed my ability to do nothing over the years, but I never thought it would reach this stage.

I have been told that one of the best things about being retired is never having to get out of your nightgown.  (Now Sundays have been nightgown day for quite a while.  As soon as we get home from church and lunch, I change for my nap and frequently never change again). And, I do so agree with that sentiment.  I stayed retired for a couple of months before I went to work part time.  And, guess what.  I stayed in my nightgown and watched movies, TV shows I’d missed (curse you Netflix), caught up on my reading and of course, spent waaaaaay to much time on the computer.  On the plus side, I crushed Zuma and Luxor so I never have to play them again.

But having Nort just look at me, shake his head and sigh one time too many did prompt me to do something with my days.  I did get the house all cleaned up and under control.  I cooked, Lord did I cook and worked in the yard (more about that later).  But, and this is the big but (not to be confused with a bodacious booty), all the things I thought I’d do didn’t happen.  I pictured lazy lunches with the “girls”, camping out at my sewing machine and doing some framing.  I was going to meet Nort for lunch and greet him with a cocktail when he got home.  Since Nort is still fully and gainfully employed, I knew that travel was not going to be a serious thing.  But, I was going to get the Guppy (the motor home) all ready to go at a moments notice.  How in the world did all my plans just vanish?

I managed to keep a basically clean house, feed my family and work in the yard when I was a worker bee.  We had clean clothes and clean dishes too. We took trips and Nort and I had date nights.   How did I go from getting everything done in the hours I had then to it taking all my retired time to do the same basic chores.  What happened to me?  I have always been prone to being a giant slug, (actually, I’ve always admired the sloth, how cool are they) but this was ridiculous.  Granted, I essentially did deep, spring cleaning on the house with all my new free time.  I cleaned out closets and cabinets (man, was that ever scary) and rearranged things that seriously needed it.

I also mastered the art of making a roux and perfected my gumbo, you know, important things that do take time.  Then, slowly and subtly like some sort of evil fog, I got sucked into the inability to get anything done in a more or less timely manner.  I could spend the whole day merely making the bed, straightening up the house and washing one load of clothes.  Then I had to hustle to fix dinner before eight.  And still hadn’t lunched with the ladies, done any sewing/knitting/crafting, or made any cocktails.  How do my friends do it?  Facebook pages are full of lunches, shopping, travel and crafts.  And, I’ve been to their houses.  No sinks of dirty dishes, beds unmade and piles of laundry.  And they are actually dressed, with hair and makeup done!  How, how, how?  Is there some sort of secret that I’ve not been privy to, a special code of conduct, a genetic trait I’ve missed?  You know who you are, please tell me!

Apparently, I am one of those people who must have a deadline or time limit in order to get anything done.  If I have to be at work by 8:30 and know I’ll be there until at least 6:30, then I know I have to get my arse up, dressed, bed made and so forth.  Then, better be ready with my grocery list so I don’t waste time on the way home so I can actually get dinner ready in time to clean up afterward and do a little picking up.

Now don’t get me wrong, since I’m married to Mr. Perfect, he actually enjoys cooking so it is not like a seven day a week cooking thing and he is capable of putting dishes in the dishwasher.  But still, I had a routine that kept us from being the next TLC hit show  (Oh my gosh!  Have you watched some of that stuff?  It sucks you in and rots your brain, but so addictive, just like crack only socially acceptable). I do have friends who have been fully retired for years and they have mastered leading full and active lives.  I have friends who have been retired for a relatively short period who never seem to sit still and travel and do all sorts of wonderful things.  But I my friends, am a wasted days and nights person.  If I don’t have a big old nudge, I will emulate the sloth.

Now that I have done all this work (and made up my bed) I think I deserve a nice little couch time and some TV watching.  Let me know how you conquered (if you have) your wasted days.  Leave me a comment and I’ll promise to sympathize.

2 thoughts on “Not just a country song

  1. Linda, when I first retired I was really bored…I slept late, cleaned closets, I didn’t garden or do yard work because I hate outside work!! Now I wondered how I ever worked…if I have to go anywhere before 9 it better be an emergency!! The DIL called for me to keep Garrett last week and said I needed to be there at 7:30…I think I still had on pj’s, no make up, nasty teeth…not a pretty site!!! But I do love my travel buds and fun kids(after 9).

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