You know how sometimes your to-do list sort of stacks up – especially the stuff you actually WANT to do – because all the crap you don’t want to do
is more urgent will deliver unwanted consequences if you don’t do them first, but there’s too many of those too and before you know it your to-do list is threatening to avalanche on you and you don’t actually even remember what’s on the first page anymore? Yeah, I know -“sometimes.” Except only sometimes does this list make me feel like I don’t know how to adult, which is what’s happening right now. I blame Jesus. I know, “what the hell, Maya? That doesn’t even make any sense! You can’t just blame Jesus every time you can’t get it together.”
But I can, and what’s more it will make perfect sense to you by task 3. So buckle up and prepare for a ride though the wild and fearsome jungle of my inner monologue.
To-do list for this blog:
1) finally make the damn Christmas ornament from my old Mirena already. You exorcised that demon two and a half years ago! Exactly how long do you intend to keep it a plastic bag in the bathroom cabinet? You’re never going to win the “it has to move with us” argument if it isn’t coated in glitter. There is glitter, there is glue. What exactly is the holdup? Oh, time-shame is it? It doesn’t roll backward, sweetcheeks, so you might as well do it now.
2) make a barbie-saurus. Seriously, somebody has to do it, and it should be you since it was your idea. If the leg sockets aren’t compatible there’s always x-acto knives and glue. And duct tape. And big poofy barbie dresses to cover the mess, which you’ll probably need anyway to cover the giant dino-hips. Better to do it badly than not at all. Goodwill is Right. Down. The Street. There’s not even snow anymore. Just go!
3) Make a t-shirt that allows wearers to decide what of theirs Jesus has today (for those following along, go read this post, just the part about the Jesus Easter Eggs; now go read comment 23. Now understand why I blame Jesus for stealing my motivation. He’s probably a kleptomaniac though, so don’t be too hard on Him because it’s an illness). The Bloggess hath spoken, and this t-shirt needs to be made. Okay, admittedly this one was more complicated than you might have guessed. It took a whole day to set up the (still empty) Zazzle shop, then there was the unsuccessful day spent trying to find a place to make custom patches that don’t belong on paramilitary gear, followed by exasperation and lust-shopping for embroidery machines. And then there was that wasted hour making custom Pantyhats™ that resulted in nothing because leggings aren’t in stock right now. This one is a puzzle. I totally forgive you for not finishing this one yet. [thanks, me!]
4) Eulogize Terry Pratchett. Okay, granted, this one’s been really hard. How do you finish a post when every time you try to write it everything goes all watery? I know it’s sad, but this is important – your writing deities don’t die every day (thankfully). So suck it up, buttercup, and honor the honorable already. What would Sam Vimes do? Agreed: bacon sandwiches (and yeah, Do What Must Be Done).
5) Write a post about Corinne turning 18 on Tuesday. Again with the weepy; it’s a wonder you’re not completely dessicated! It would have been way more meaningful to do it ON the birthday, but she’s no less 18 now than she was Tuesday. There’s good material in this story, you just have to remember to not go all maudlin, though admittedly the apple/tree issue makes that difficult. Still, time’s a-wastin. “My baby just turned 19” has a much less dramatic ring to it. Hop to it.
The trouble is, that’s only one of like seven conversations happening in my head right now. It gets very noisy in here.
The upshot of all this is that these are all things you can look forward to here…at some point…hopefully soon. I have a day to myself on Saturday, so my fingers are crossed that I’ll get a bunch done and then stack up a bunch of posts to release over the next few weeks. OMG, it would be so nice to get ahead on posts. Yeah…this is me, holding my breath.
Jesus could at least be helpful and take my excuses or fatigue or something. Or figure out those damn t-shirts for me. You’d think He’d want the PR, or at least a convenient way to keep track of whose stuff He has right now.