Of all the many things I could (or rather, should) have done today, I managed to avoid them all. I didnít reconcile the May bank statement (and letís hope there are no big discrepancies, although thereís enough of a float to cover, probably). I didnít pull any weeds or do any mowing out in the still-wet yard (but I do have a plan to get some of this work done during the week, for a change). I didnít clean the bathroom (no big plans here) or the kitchen or the loft or the bedroom (ditto).
So what did I do? Well, I havenít shaved since Friday, and I didnít make my bed all day long. That tells you I didnít plan to leave the house and I didnít expect any visitors. I pretty much vegetated my day away. You can do that when youíre all caught up on the things you need to do. You probably shouldnít do it if you have as long a to-do list as I have, but there was no one around to tell me I was shirking and slacking and dodging and ducking. I had to tell myself those things, and frankly, I wasnít listening.
But thereís always tomorrow.
There is. Thereís always tomorrow, right up until you run up against the last one. And if there isnít going to be a tomorrow, I donít want to spend today cleaning the bathroom. Iíd much rather spend it watching NASCAR and baseball and foreign films on DVD and TiVoíd episodes of East Enders (from 2000, when Frank and Pat were making plans to run away together).