Pickles & Dimes

This past weekend, we went to Jason’s hometown to participate in Kolacky Days. For me, this means eating a bunch of mini-donuts and a taco-in-a-bag. For Jason, it means making a beeline for the cheese curds. For Jason’s brother Corey, it meant trying to put together a team for the Bohemian Tractor Pull.

For those not familiar, a Bohemian Tractor Pull involves a team of four men – who pull the tractor.

As expected, Jason and his buddies were less than enthusiastic about the idea of pulling a tractor tied to dirty ropes 150 feet in 85-degree heat.

“I’m going to come up lame,” said one.

“I’m just going to stand there and let Corey do all the pulling,” said Jason.

“I’m going to pay Maddie [Jason’s teenage cousin who was on crutches] five bucks to take my place,” said another.

But they prevailed:

After finding out they placed third, their tune changed.

“That was awesome!” said one.

“Let’s do it again next year!” said Jason.

“I’m going to do a few squats between now and next year so we can do better!” said another. “And then gain eight inches of height and 75 pounds of muscle.”

In my nearly obsessive desire to finish things, especially projects at work, I implemented a “bird by bird” strategy yesterday, where I resolved to work on something until it was completed, rather than flit like a drunken hummingbird from project to project in knee-jerk response to the innumerable requests that come in from the individuals I work with.

Unfortunately, I decided to employ this strategy on a day where I would receive seven new projects, all due at the same time. But I pushed through it, working steadily on my chosen project before even acknowledging my awareness of the others, and I’ve made a dent. Now I only have five projects due at the same time, and that’s not even counting the five other projects that came in and were completed today (because naturally, they were due today), which would’ve normally caused my blood to boil to the point where it escaped from my body to hunt down and drown someone in a sea of coagulated rage.

Other Things

Abby had to be retested for her creatitine level since she was just above the normal level of 2.0 with a 2.1. Her newest test came back at 2.0, which was a relief. She seems to know exactly how worried about her we were (a possible diagnosis of kidney disease that has been postponed at least a little longer), because she has been extra playful and affectionate and eagerly soliciting chin rubs.

I was pulling my arm back from placing a magazine on our table while Shorty sat in my lap last week, and he raised his head right as my elbow passed into his head space, so I bumped him pretty good on the snout. Now he has a raised bump there. I feel awful for turning him into a canine Streisand, but he is acting normally, and doesn’t flinch if you touch it, although I actually cried two nights ago because I admitted to Jason during a PMS-fueled worry fest that I probably fractured Shorty’s nose and now a splinter of bone is merrily on its way through his bloodstream headed straight toward his brain. God, hormones are stupid.

We attended a work picnic of Jason’s last weekend where we completed the largest comeback ever in the history of the beanbag toss. Unfortunately, the tornado sirens went off and the party dispersed before any champion could be crowned. On the plus side, my father’s raffle-winning tactics worked yet again. I think I am now 3-for-3 after following his advice of crumpling my paper slip into a ball instead of folding it in half. Things I have won using this strategy include a giant basket of Mary Kay products, a giant basket of Christmas cookies and chocolates, and a Minnesota Twins cooler on wheels. You may use this advice for your own benefit, unless you are attending a raffle in which I am present, in which case, all bets are OFF.

I bought a neck chiller for running, which the former champion ultramarathoner I work with made me feel ridiculous for ordering for my own measly 3-mile runs, but when I run, my head overheats, and when my head overheats I feel like murdering everyone in my vicinity (don’t worry, I don’t have the stamina). So I bought one and it arrived, and I placed the gel strip in the freezer, and when I go running again on Sunday, it will be awesome and my speed will magically increase and I will finally beat Jason and somewhere, a world record will be broken (not by me, obviously). Jason said I will look goofy wearing it but since last week I was thisclose to putting ice cubes in my sports bra, I am obviously not concerned with running gear fashion.

Volumes 1-5 can be found here.

“BEEP BEEP BEEP!” says the alarm clock.

“IS IT TIME TO WAKE UP ALREADY?!? I’M STILL EXHAUSTED!” says Shauna.

“GOOD MORNING! DID MY 750 MEOWS KEEP YOU UP?” says Sunny.

“GOOD MORNING! I HAVE CAREFULLY HUNTED AND KILLED THESE BEANIE BABIES DURING THE NIGHT AND LAID THEM ON THE FLOOR FOR YOU TO TRIP OVER,” says Abby.

“GUESS WHAT? I WAS SO INVOLVED WITH CHASING A FLY AROUND THE HOUSE THAT I KNOCKED ALL YOUR PAPERWORK OFF THE COUNTER,” says Sunny.

“ALSO, I AM STARVING, AND ANGRY ABOUT SAID STARVING, SO I PEED IN THE KITCHEN SINK,” says Abby.

“ZZZZZZZ,” says Shorty.

(more…)

I had a journalism class in college where one of our assignments was to write an article. I have no recollection of my article’s subject, but my friend Jessica chose perfectionism and how it hurts people. She had an outline of her main points: how perfectionists have a hard time finishing a project because they don’t think it’s perfect; how they’re reluctant to try new things because they’re afraid of failure, etc. It sounded like a great piece.

The irony? She never finished it. She had the idea and the talking points all laid out, but she just couldn’t finalize it on paper. She kept wanting to “do more research” or “talk to more people,” and eventually she had to ask for an extension. Which she never met.

She ended up taking an incomplete for the class, all because of one unfinished article about people who can’t finish things.

I seem to have fallen into this same pattern, not necessarily because I’m a perfectionist, but because I want to accomplish SO MUCH so I feel my time was well spent. Scrapbooking? Writing? Knitting? I need a good hour or so to get into the groove, so I should wait until the weekend, right? Only the weekends are busy or we’re out of town or I’m just not in the mood, so guess what? A year goes by and I haven’t done anything.

I haven’t knitted in months. I haven’t scrapbooked or written (other than here) in a good year.

I know that there isn’t some magical expanse of time where I’m going to find myself ensconced in a seaside cottage without chores or bills or obligations or commutes, burdened only with a laptop, my knitting, some creative ideas and endless, lazy loops of free time. I know that, realistically.

So what am I waiting for? Am I afraid of failure? I don’t think so. Am I afraid of hard work? No. Am I a champion procrastinator? I guess, only I want to do all of these things, so I’m just waiting for “the perfect time.” Which I know doesn’t exist.

So what if I only have time to write a few paragraphs a day, or even a week? So what if I only knit two rows a night? Add those up over the course of a year, and I’ll have so much more finished (or nearly finished) than I do now, which is nothing.

Wish me luck.

What projects do you have unfinished, and what’s the reason?