flea

I'm working every Wednesday night this semester, which is a serious pain in the ass at 9pm, when I'm starting to feel ready for bed but have another hour of work, a half-hour walk home, and a half-hour cool down before I can sleep ahead of me. But it's wonderful on the Wednesday morning, when everyone else leaves the house at 7:38 and I have five whole hours ahead of me before I need to leave to walk in.

This blog post (http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/01/19/where-does-a-mothers-time-go/) and the WaPo article by Schulte it draws heavily on (which I recommend if you're interested in this issue, which honestly doesn't just apply to parents, IMO) made me extra-appreciate my five hours this morning. I was busy the whole time: did a load of laundry, spent more than an hour priming trim in my bedroom, dusted the stairs (yuck!), cleaned the top of the tub surround in the downstairs bathroom (yuck!), made a lasagna, cleared off the coffee table, cleaned the dcat litter, but Dillo's comforter back in its case after washing it last weekend when the cat barfed on it, and 20 other minor tidying and cleaning things, most of which my dear husband would never think of doing. But for all that, I would mark this time as "leisure" (in addition to "housework") because oh, the freedom of my MIND as I was doing all this! I was full of productive and planny thoughts of a happy and non-stressful nature, a state which continued on my walk in to work. It helps that today is one of the gorgeous Southern winter days (65 and sunny), but it's a wonderful thing, to know that I and only I am in control of my time 5 hours a week, and if I choose to spend it painting and cleaning, that is MY choice.

I should also walk to work more - I miss the exercise, and I really do my best thinking while walking. I came in full of ideas for meeting friends and professional career plans.

And then people post pictures of their lives: http://www.arghink.com/2007/09/04/the-twelve-days-of-my-office/

Okay, feeling better now. (I mean, still more clutter than I like, but I could never get that cluttered. I'd die of frustration first.)