Before Kenny began his training for the new Cleveland casino, I was a much more productive person.
I don’t know what has happened to me.
He trains (unpaid, mind you – for which I admire his gumption and dedication, I can’t say for certain that I would have the same unpaid motivation) five days per week, 9 a.m. – 1 p.m., Wed-Sun. His days off are Mon-Tues.
I had lofty plans on how I was going to spend my Saturday & Sunday morning hours sans interruptions. I was going to get up my normal weekend time, 9 or 10 a.m., have some coffee, write a little, blog a little, and then go get busy with my organization plans.
Those organization plans are some Grand Plans I have laid out in my mind. Clear out the back “junk/guest” bedroom, where everything without a dedicated space seems to land. Organize the kitchen cupboards. Which, by the way, I have actually done. Get my paperwork files organized. Clear off all the shit that piles up on the kitchen table. I still have a bag of birthday gifts sitting in a bag on the kitchen floor – no place to put ’em, so I’ve left them there. I have my 2012 plan to figure out space for stuff.
But what really happens? Kenny leaves for training. I get up, feed the cats, look at facebook, cnn.com. The decide it’s too early to be up on the weekend, grab Kitty Purry and plop back into bed. And then we catnap until noon. Noon on a good day. Some weekends, Kenny has called me on his way home from training and has awakened me. At 1:00 p.m.
IN THE AFTERNOON.
Lazy, lazy shame.
Today? I was up at 8:00 when he went to training. Stayed up til about 8:30. Realized that was ridiculous and went back to bed until 11:50 a.m.
But then? I got up and cleaned out the freezer. Food that’s been in there for a year stands a very small chance of getting eaten. I’m talking about leftovers and such, not normal freezer goods like bagged vegetables. Those can last a little longer.
I pulled out some bagged and frozen raspberries that I had gotten from my grandmother. I’m letting them defrost and am going to see if they are salvageable and turn them into pie. With enough sugar they should be good. Right? Well, we’ll see.
And that, Reader, is My Exciting Life. Hide your jealousy, it’s unbecoming.