Not that I've been sitting there staring at Nickolodeon. Labor Day weekend was crazy. I had Brigid Berlin's Syndrome in spades and got a lot of cleaning, organizing and filing done. For some reason, I obsesively collect and print out every little thing I find on del.icio.us related to organizing, CSS and dealing with clients. I wish I had time for the first thing, the left brain for the next thing, and more of the last thing.
I guess the only thing I can say in my defense is that at least I don't vacuum my shopping bags and scrub the inside of the Vaseline jar lid. That's taking things a little too far. But my office is really, really small and I know from bitter experience that if I can see big messy piles of paper out of the corners of my eyes when I'm trying to work, it distracts me.
So, everything was good, my "office" looked like a little Zen temple of creative function, and then Chloe started cutting her teeth. Suddenly my precious little bit of time at home was spent jiggling and rocking and administering tiny dabs of Oragel to her bright red little gums. Dishes and half full beer bottles piled up next to the keyboard, abandoned as the whimpering started up again. The only thing that seems to work is Infant Tylenol but I can't keep giving her that without feeling like Julianne Moore's character in "Freedomland". (Read the book, it's probably better than the movie)
After about a week and a half of this I came down with a raging case of "TDLA" or, To-Do List Anxiety. (Don't feel left out, it will probably be a top story on "Geraldo" by the end of the week) It was the nagging sensation that there were a million and one things that I had to get done, coupled with a vague certainty that I was forgetting about a million more. The only known cure for TDLA is to sit down and write out everything you have to do and then go through the list, item by item until it gets done. So I grabbed a notebook and got busy and then bogged down by the somewhat depressing realization that I was inexorably turning into my mother, minus the prescription for Ativan. She makes little lists for EVERYTHING. Last year I told her that we were getting married and wanted a simple outdoor ceremony in NH for friends and a small party for the family the next weekend and before you could say "Florist" she had color-coded lists and charts that would have put Patton to shame. But at least now I have some kind of idea how much I have to do.
The TDLA is compounded by the number one problem most parents face. NETS, or, Not Enough Time Syndrome. You think you have hours and hours to get a lot of stuff done, you buckle down and try to tackle your list, and hours later, realize that you might be able to get half of one item done, if you're lucky. So, by bitter experience, you've come to the glum conclusion that you will never have enough time so why bother in the first place? I decided to get rid of the NETS by writing down exactly how much "open time" I have every day of the week before dropping Chloe off at a grandmother's and then after bringing her home at night. Assuming I can function with 6 hours of sleep per night, I came up with 45.5 hours in a 7 day stretch. At least it's more than I expected. Last night I went home and worked for an hour on a re-design project for the design site. Then I went to bed at 11pm and set my alarm for 5. I got up and worked for an hour and a half on a Flash project before heading out with Chloe. I think that, psychologically, knowing the specific amount of actual free time available, plus having a specific item to work on instead of a lot of vague "stuff" helps me to buckle down. But I still feel like Andy in 40 Year Old Virgin when you see that little schedule he has taped to his fridge in the opening sequence. "7am : up and shower, 7:15: start coffee, 7:20: make breakfast..."
No comments:
Post a Comment