The fact that the mountain of clean, unfolded laundry on the guest room bed seems a significantly bigger nuisance than the same volume of dirty laundry seem to speak to the excess in our society--we are not lacking for something to wear, but for the time to get it put away. It would seem we just have too many things and not enough time to connect.
Fact in point-- I volunteered, in a way, to help with this year's play. In the shadows, as it were, just to wean myself from the experience. Cathy wanted my help choosing and writing, and it was definitely a good place to start. Until we ended up spending 4 hours on a Saturday night at my kitchen table without finishing, under deadline, during a snowstorm, and I grew weary and less interested. I abandoned the effort, not answering calls (or folding laundry) until I knew it had to be done.
I have lots of excuses--a particularly contentious small claims lawsuit with a scary insurance agent who claims we owe him money for a policy that we never used, and that George claimed to have "taken care of" but instead it came back to bite me again. The next step in the eviction process of a tenant that doesn't pay rent. Taxes. Math meltdowns. Prospective puberty. And dinner and cleaning and shuffling around to rehearsals and practice and kung fu and piano, dinner and dishes and the same old thing that is somehow always just a little more than it's possible to keep up with.
But then I ran into Cathy and found out (that I should have already known that) she finished the play, of course, but also that her daughter had to be rushed to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy, and was only just home and recovering. So much for my excuses....
Worse, when she asked if I'd read the rewrite.... I, fibbed. Well, lied. Said that of course I had. Nodded and smiled guiltily through the rest of the conversation. Where she gave me a valentine gift to thank me for my help--as though I wasn't guilty enough.
Then I read the end of the play, and was moved almost to tears, and Cathy needs to know that but in order to tell her I have to 'fess up, which i have to do anyway. And I want to, even, but somehow can't seem to find the time, even the 10 minutes it would take to do it over email.
That mountain of laundry has to be dealt with because I have a friend coming who needs to use the guest room. Dinner has to be made. Homework has to get done. And somehow, I have to find a way, this year, to make time to connect with the important people. They deserve it, and so do I.
