After coming to the realisation that I never finish anything, I am now viewing everything in my house with wariness. It seems every time I walk into a room, there is some reminder of something I intended to do. A room needing painting, a pile of papers needing filed, a raised bed needing building, a mountain of laundry needing put away, a course needing working on, a toddler needing his ears cleaned...ignorance was much better. You would think that in a 4 room house there would be somewhere that was finished!
Of course, I can always say my excuse was that Ellis needed something more pressing...the Brio train needed to be moved from the floor to the table to the floor to the table. We HAD to find out what the snail did when the whale got beached and whether or not Max got home in time for supper. We desperately needed to go and make sure the tractors were still at the farm next door. And we couldn't not chase the cats madly around the house...that would have been obscene and they would have felt neglected and move out.
The reality is that I use a lot of "my" time to do other things. To read, to write, to sew, to see friends and neighbours...things that nourish and sustain me, but aren't going to get me into Good Housekeeping Magazine.
To be fair, I do have my moments. Yesterday, after a burst of "I've been awake since 2am" adrenaline, i transformed this: