To Do List

I've been living in a cloud of jet lag, back to school, and general blues since we returned from Majorca. There is so much I need to catch up on that I've been incapable of tackling because of the fog of indifference that settled on me the moment I stepped off the plane.

I haven't walked for fitness since I left for Scotland (hiking doesn't count) and I've been having difficulty finding time to step out the door and go. I can't take morning walks during the week because I need to be out of the house by 6:15 and I've been getting home at odd times because of tutoring and running errands, so I haven't been walking after school. Yesterday, I got home at 3:45 (I don't know the last time I've walked through my front door before 5 during the work week - it's been YEARS) so I slid on my FiveFingers and took a few steps out from underneath the fog.

It was nice to be out in the world walking my route - the view of NYC from the Heights was surprisingly clear yesterday - but the feel and affect wasn't the same as what I experience on my summer morning walks and I figured out why.

When I walk in the summertime, my entire day lies ahead of me like a tree lined country lane; while walking, I have plenty of time to organize my thoughts, plan my attack, and most importantly, enjoy being in the moment. I can do those things because I know I have the time whereas yesterday, my to do list kept nagging me to stop burning daylight and hurry up and get home. The laundry pile beckoned, the unwritten thank you notes judged , and Angelica Pinkerton's water fountain sputtered, "change me".

I need to rummage around in my head, sift through all of the piles that have accumulated there over the past few weeks, and put order to this chaos or I will lose the plot. Then, I need to go from room to room of the apartment and do the same, and on the double.

I've dropped the reigns - my organization and control of my life have deteriorated; when I flung open my closet door this morning, I noticed the rosette atop one of my wedding shoes sprouting out from underneath a pile of luggage, clothing, shoes, and laundry. I'm officially a mess.

Is nothing sacred enough for me to warrant it special? Is Matt's Armani suit crumpled up in a ball in the corner of his closet? I think you know the answer to that.

So, what's La Pointe of It All? Well, it's this - my life isn't going to clean itself up so it's time to 'red up my room.