In my little circle of family and friends, I’m not exactly known for my efficiency. Or organization. Or focus. Or planning skills. Or ability to see a project through from start to finish. Sure, I’ve somehow managed to write whole books. But I think people who know me secretly think it’s just a freak of my already freakish nature, simply the only thing I’ve managed to finish in a long, long list of things I haven’t. I should be offended by this. Instead…
I hate it when they’re right.
I had only one set-in-stone plan for Saturday: Buy a gift for my older son’s birthday. That, and maybe start painting my older daughter’s bedroom, since I’ve had the paint on-hand for a couple weeks now. So, armed with a caramel latte and a rare, super-productive mood, I bopped out to my car. Where I was greeted by a flat tire. Feeling my productive mood slip a notch, I stared at my tire and tried not to cuss. Then marched back inside to yell for my husband. Then followed him back out, where he confirmed that my tire was, indeed, flat. No kidding. (sarcasm tends to accompany my bad moods). Anyway, my tire did have the tiniest bit of air still inside the rubber, so I knocked back my coffee, hopped in my car, and followed him to the closest repair shop.
Where we waited for forty-five minutes.
So they could tell us they couldn’t fix it. But they eagerly offered to sell us four new tires.
My tires are only a month old, so we eagerly told them no.
Then we hopped back in the car and drove to our usual shop—the shop we should have gone to in the first place. Thirty minutes later, I drove away with an inflated, working tire.
Productive mood restored, I resumed birthday-shopping mode. However, now my husband wanted to go with me, which was great with me, so we dropped my car at home and hopped in his car for the short drive one town over. By now, productivity was back in full swing for both of us, so my husband decided to make a short detour to his office to pick up a few papers.
So we did.
Except that when he shoved his office key into the lock, it wouldn’t turn. Neither left nor right. Nor would it come out. While I sat in the car, he tugged at it. Pulled at it. Pounded at it. Cursed at it. Kicked at it. When none of that worked, I decided to give it my best shot. So I dragged my productivity-deflating butt from the car, then walked over and tugged at it. Pulled at it. Pounded at it. Cursed at it. Kicked at it.
Surprisingly, it stayed put.
So of course we had to call a locksmith. Who of course couldn’t come for an hour. And since we couldn’t just leave that key in that lock for some weirdo with magic unlocking powers to walk by, break in, and steal everything, we waited.
Until we got sick of waiting and left, because by now we were starving. So we grabbed some fries, and that’s where I discovered my daughter’s trumpet still sitting in the backseat.
See. My daughter has been in band for a couple of years, but trumpet hasn’t been her thing, and with school volleyball and club volleyball and guitar lessons, she’s busy enough. So when she asked to quit, I didn’t have a problem with it. But her trumpet was due back at the rental place that day. And the rental place closed in thirty minutes. And from our current location, we were fifteen minutes away from said rental place.
So off we went, passing right by the birthday-buying store in our rush to make it across town.
We made it in twenty. And “Yay!” it was a music store. But “Not yay!” it didn’t have what we needed.
And by that point, we’d been gone three hours.
And guess what? I no longer flippin’ cared.
Besides, we still had that dang key to worry about. An hour later, it was taken care of. Five minutes after that, I was ticked off at the whole world…totally done with the birthday shopping that never even happened.
So we drove home—birthday giftless, productivity-less, and not speaking to each other-less.
It was a super-fun Saturday. The kind I really hope to repeat. Exactly one month from Never-The-Heck-Again.
But as for the book thing, I did get some writing done. I even managed some editing. I managed a couple more things on that front, too. Good things, as a matter of fact. Things that finally made me feel super, SUPER productive.
Come back next time, and I’ll share them with you.
Amy