It has not been a productive day. I say that as the productivity part, well the productivity part related to work, earning an income, putting food on the proverbial table, that part, comes to a close. It ends at 2:21 these days. And sixteen seconds. That is not to say that I am without things to produce. I have several. And more important, they are to be produced within a certain window of time. It is a small window. Single pane. This is when I sometimes feel spunky, brazen, you know, dangerous. I am not like this when I have a bay window-sized window, or a sliding door-width window. It is only when I am crunched. Ha ha, I scoff, at the things to be produced.
Why do I do this, I wonder. I should say that I don’t always do it, but when I do, it is consciously. It is decided upon. I will tempt the window. I will laugh at the tightening deadline. I will hope that I don’t trip tomorrow and require stitches in an elbow, or toe, which will monopolize the actual minutes that remain. Usually, I tell myself that something in me, something in my artistic soul needs the extra breathing room. The brilliance that will make the particular assignment that much more magnificent needs to germinate this exact amount of time. Then, it will be ready to sprout. Then, it will emerge, glorious, at 9:12 tomorrow morning. It is germinating, now, all by itself. I can feel it. So, in essence, I am working, yes, I am.
This is the kind of thing I tell myself when I just need a day off. Why can’t I just take a day off, polish the toes, eat a normal lunch? People with regular jobs get regular days off, and they don’t tell themselves their ideas are whirring around in their brains right then, when they are doing relaxing things, so that they don’t feel guilty. They just eat the normal lunch, happily, and paint the toes, angst-free.
It is now 2:09, which is pretty darn close to 2:21. I don’t have much time left, though I probably have more to say. I could have done more with my day off, I am thinking. More day-off things. But I guess you have to know it is that kind of day before it just becomes one. Aaarggghhhhhhh.
Like A Single Mom 