I wish ambition was contagious. I am surrounded by ambitious women who accomplish so much every day. I listen and watch and admire, but none of that seems to rub off. In fact, it makes me tired. I could blame it on the weather, but I think the problem goes deeper than that. If I'm feeling especially perky, I might pick up a pencil and add a chore to my to-do list (which I have pared down to just three items so I'm not overwhelmed). Or not. There's no guaranty anything will get crossed off. There are days when I won't even look at the list. I have no supervisor, no boss to please. It's just me telling me what I should do, and sometimes I don't listen. There might be a flurry of activity when the burden of guilt becomes too heavy, but I wouldn't bet the farm that will happen.
I got caught with my dishes down yesterday. Normally cleaning up the kitchen is the first job of the day when I get back from the barn, but I procrastinated (what a surprise) in the heat, needing a cool-down period. I sometimes consider putting a thermometer in the barn to see what the actual temp is under that metal roof with no shade, but decide that it's best I don't know lest I keel over with the truth. Cooling off took most of the day. At any rate, I was busy doing nothing when Camille called to see if I was home. I was. She said she was on the road and was bringing me some of her home-grown apricots. What she didn't say was that she was on my road, on my road and turning into my driveway. There was no time to hide the evidence of my sloth. Cleverly, I enticed her to join me out on the deck, avoiding the kitchen, and I listened to all the work she had done that day. Ah, well.