I just completed my third or fourth distraction circuit of the day. Distraction from what? From cleaning up the mess that is my checkbook; a mess which, since Christmas, has grown at a rate more alarming than the disheveled condition of my teen son's bedroom. (I break out in goose pimples just THINKING about THAT living space!) I'm one of those who prefers seeing the black-and-red of my household spending on paper - scribbled into those little lined registers tucked in the wallet behind checks bedecked with patterns of birds or polka dots or whatever one finds imprinted on bargain checks bought at various online sites in multiple boxes so as to save even more money.
And before we continue . . . YES . . . I realize that three months and a smattering of days have elapsed since last I visited my blog. Unfortunately, I'm not paid to write, and that ol' regular gig I have, called 'domestic life,' revved into high gear and kicked the stuffing out of my schedule, my rest and my health to some extent. That deaf pup which was at the core of my last entry definitely ranks up there in all of that!
So, back to the subject at hand. Mainly, describing just what the heck a distraction circuit is. Obviously, an escape or break from the monotony of the agonizing task at hand. Resting my eyes as they strain between the statement and the registers. Relaxing my left hand of its death grip on my favorite pink pen (the one I bought at Office Depot while in the company of my baby brother after his release from prison - I've lost the thing twice, and it has returned to me both times, much to my relief). Suspending my irritation at the lack of discipline I've shown in this area lately. Every couple of hours, this domestic accountant needs to swim up through the sea of numbers and business names and gulp a few deep breaths of rainy day air. It's rather a hypnotic, not to mention slightly nauseating, exercise. AND there's a great reason - aside from practicality - to balance the checkbook on a monthly basis as opposed to the practically semi-annual bind in which I now find myself: having to choke down in one extended visual gulp the amounts paid to doctors, the vet, Wal Mart, gas stations, grocery stores, ATT U-Verse AND cellular, Petsmart and the various sports clubs just vexes to the point of a near death experience!
My most recent circuit involved three smaller breaks wrapped up into a half hour space. I pulled away from my desk. (I'm in my study which is now painted in the garden green and deep plum I chose months ago; and lined with book shelves sporting knick-knacks and memorabilia, rocks and pictures, and books, books and more books.) Headed downstairs to distract the rainy day dogs with chews which Hank devours with his enormous choppers while Gracie takes forever with her small mouth and newly emerging adult teeth. Snapped a few shots of the various song birds at the feeder, their feathers darkened by the rain, beaks smacking into the seed with gusto. Returned upstairs to roll out my back on the big blue exercise ball. Sat back down to the pages of statements. Searched and found a few errors which worked IN my favor as opposed to against me . . . a rarity . . . how stressed WAS I to enter an $8 amount at Starbucks as $80? SCORE!
Before very long, my tummy told me it wanted popcorn; I said I would pop a nice batch of Orville's air corn later. But I did venture back downstairs to scan the contents of the fridge. I had myself a half slice of bacon left over from breakfast, along with a half a banana, which got me to thinking about the sandwiches Elvis Presley used to eat, which THEN led me to recall a poster I saw online of Elvis and a gaggle of girls in bathing suits -- the swim shorts he had on were evidently predecessors of the Speedo as far as snugness and lack of length at the bottom. Because he was in that bent knee, half-swagger, half-dance pose that he's known for, the whole scene just looked kind of wrong to me. Kinda ewww. I brushed that mental fluff away and headed back up the stairs for a quick set of eighty-four mason twists for my abs and an extended child's pose yoga move to de-tense the ol' body. I think I balanced for an entire fifteen minutes before I decided I'd like to blog for a bit. Started that. Then, my friend texted to ask if I felt like going out for 'binks and nacks' (drinks and snacks as her son used to say instead of 'drinks and snacks'). For the second weekend in a row, I had to decline her offer. For the second weekend in a row, she tried to gently coerce me to reconsider. For the second weekend in a row, I reminded her of how much I hate going out to restaurants and bars but that I wasn't trying to avoid her but merely needed to play catch-up before our trip to Germany next Thursday. Then we moved into a discussion about cowboy boots and before I finally left that conversation to return to the blog, I ended up BACK downstairs to let the dogs out, check the size of my daughter's boots . . . oh, and grab one of those Drumstick Ice Cream cone-things I bought for my husband. He better hurry up and snag one because that's all that's left in the box.
Well, that's all I got. Okay. Not true. But it's all I can give for now. The checkbook beckons. The deaf pup is yammering away at the back door with that ear-piercing, slightly electronic, sound-barrier-breaking bark that we all hear just fine, thank you very much, little Gracie Helen.
I GOTTA GO!
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