What is the opposite of multi-tasking? single-tasking?

Tuesday, June 30 2014

1:23 p.m. I must be in the right place at the right time. The kitchen is cool, a bit on the dark side with all of the curtains closed, but it’s got a cool feel to it, which helps. I don’t have too many rooms that I can sit and relax in without feeling guilty for all of the undone tasks. It’s already getting hard to walk around the kitchen since it’s been a day since I vacuumed, and if I don’t do this every day, it is a losing battle. Labs may not have long hair, but they have a lot of them and are constantly shedding. I think these guys shed more than Harold and Maude.

One of these days I’ll have to put a picture of the two of them in my blog. I don’t think I have ever done so. Great dogs once they grew up, and it took them years to get there. I tell people that when I went from Kahlua, the all-time best dog in the world, to the two pups, it was like going from a fine wine to sour grapes. And I had never had two puppies at the same time. I couldn’t even figure out who did what, and by that point it really didn’t matter. It was off of their memory etch-a-sketch; they were living in the now; I think that’s what I like about dogs. They put it all out on the table.dogs_playing_poker-1280x1024

Lucy is certainly living in the now as she snoozes, snoring so loudly that I have to turn the volume up on my piano music. I wouldn’t have been able to write these words if the television were on or rock music. Sometimes if I am feeling extra creative, I am able to listen to great classic rock music, but too many times the lyrics distract me and the beat makes me want to move around. The only time I dance is when I am alone in my house. That’s a sad statement, isn’t it? I’m trying to make it so I can sing while alone in the house. I do a great job while in my car, but not just at home. Sometimes I forget, and I do it anyway and I always feel better for doing it. It’s taken me how long to feel comfortable in my own skin? Guess it’s better late than never.

A thousand words seems like an eternity sometimes, though last night the K came way too quickly. I’m trying to recreate what I did yesterday since I had one of the best days I’ve had in a long time. Excluding the Europe trip; those almost three weeks can’t be topped by anything except for another trip.

As I listen to the piano work of Lorie Line. I think the song is called in the Looking Glass. I’ve never heard of her or the song. Some songs seem to help me type; it’s like I’m writing to the melody of the music. When Sylvia heard me type in the middle of the night, twenty-seven years ago, she thought I was playing the drums. House was itty bitty, just a few dog lengths between the bedroom and my little hole in the wall office. I’ve always loved little writing nooks. Writing and reading nooks.

I wonder why I didn’t want to take piano lessons when I was a child, but come to think of it, I may not have been asked. My parents may have picked up the gauntlet and opted to pick their battles wisely and piano playing wasn’t on the list. I wish ballroom dancing had not been on that list. I’m scarred for life after that experience. Actually, it only took a few years of treatment, and that was all behind me, but this probably why I am so skittish around a dance floor. Every so often, I find the courage to get up there even though I look like a moose on skates. Not graceful. Now give me the skates and a puck and a stick, and I’ll looking like Ginger Rogers. No, not really. The closest I ever came to having anything like Ginger was my cat Ginger. She was Fred’s sister.

I miss that cat. I wish I could have figured out how to encourage him to stay home. It’s been months since he would even answer to my call. When he stopped doing that, I knew it was over. Never thought I would be divorcing a cat or that he was divorcing me. Fred seems happy and content across the street. He works the field on the corner, though he doesn’t need a cardboard sign.

Speaking of working the fields, I didn’t mention that Ying brought me a present. She had already snuggled with me when she left in the middle of the night for some hunting. I don’t know what time it was, but sun was just creeping up. Birds. Roosters. Whatnot were moving about, and Ying started to meow. Since she wasn’t coming upstairs, and was just crying up to the loft from the middle floor; sound carries well in this house, I knew she was trying to tell me something.

And then the dogs went crazy. Chasing something. Ricky made it sound like he treed something, but he chases ghosts, and I don’t think ghosts climb trees. I didn’t get the tiny field mouse body until later in the morning. Poor little thing. I do feel guilty. A little guilty. I could never kill a mouse, but it no longer bothers me to see them dead. What I can’t take are the not dead ones, and then I try to rescue them or at least be with them when they take their last breath. Good thing I only have thirty words to go as this blog is making me sad, and I just may have to insert of a picture of me crying.

CAL CRYCan’t go wrong with Calvin. That is one of my favorite cartoons.. I could see them over and over. See, there’s nothing wrong with having imaginary best friends. Some of my closest allies don’t exist. But then again, there’s a good reason why I prefer dogs over humans.

I’m at my thousand word goal, which means it is time to shift to another activity. Did someone say clean?


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