When you’re a man of a certain age, you like doing things your way.
In my case, I prefer not doing – as in, I can do that later, or better yet: tomorrow.
Things like paying bills, sending thank you notes (or texts), returning phone calls, cleaning out the freezer, or picking up pencils from the floor can wait. When I feel uncertain that I’ll be able to straighten-up from a forward bend, I leave it to the cleaning person to pick up the trail of pens, pencils, and notes I leave behind me when my lower back complains about doing work.
All of which brings me to this space. Since April (Goodness! Has it been that long?!), I’ve let the place go unattended and paid little mind to it. In the time since, summer’s come and continues to cling stubbornly on; a hurricane luckily spared us the worse, yet left a mess behind; dating continues to leave unfavorable impressions on a dwindling hopeful mind; and once again I find myself asking, what do I do about my ennui?
This morning, when I switched on the light on this blog, I found the tables, floor, and walls dusty and full of ideas that have gone nowhere – not for lack of want, but because my follow through is rather poor. I keep telling myself, “I’ll do it tomorrow. Tomorrow works better for me,” and this turned what at first I thought would be a couple of days into quite a few months. “Tomorrow,” I kept saying, a la Miss Scarlet. Trouble is, tomorrow never came for Miss O’Hara nor for this site.
So, rather than defer to another morrow what I can do today, and knowing there are more pressing things I should be doing, I decided to put those things aside (Note to self: today is the first day to look for health insurance on the Health Marketplace; must have health insurance!), deferring them to another day, and I began to clean up this space. Throwing open the curtains, wiping the dust off the keyboard, and getting the mop from the closet (Note to self: replace mop head and get extra Clorox), I spent a good chunk of the morning scrubbing, wiping, and tossing months worth of neglect into the recycling bin.
The work is far from spic-and-span; in fact, this post is really much ado about nothing. But it’s a start. The writing muscles are twitching and feel sore, but it’s a good kind of sore. The mind is foggy and dull, but it’s nothing a few cups of coffee can’t fix. The fingers are re-learning to contort their way around a keyboard after months of swiping and thumbing their way around a mini-screen deleting and blocking unsuitable dating choices.
There is lots to talk about and share, the challenge is deciding where to start. So, today, I’m making a list of things I want to write about, I’m nailing said list to the wall so it won’t fall to the floor next to this week’s To Do list, and I’m scribbling sentences together to meet a goal of 500 words – or thereabouts – that I can post to the blog. It’s too bad, really, that my Apple watch does not have an activity ring for words or characters typed, though it would be no more an incentive to write or do things like move around, stand-up, or take a walk around the block. (Again, must check health-insurance plans!)
For now, as the scent of Febreze fills the room and an allergy coughing and sneezing fit subsides from the dust inhaled in the process of writing, I can look at myself in the mirror and admit, “Dude, you should go walking around the block this evening. No, seriously. Go walk!”