I am having a very odd day. By that, I mean I am having a very productive day. This is so not like me. The farm chores are very thoroughly done; the yards are picked up, complete with hound poop scooped; the kitchen is clean; the house is reasonably tidy; and the washing machine is busy spinning its fourth load. I must be coming down with something. Typically, I drag myself out of bed, drive the boys to the bus stop, help with farm chores, and sit back down. This is me. My mother used to say I was as slow as molasses in January and I usually am. I do recall one time when I was getting ready for the start of one of our “famous” parties (with a help from Mom) and rushing around when she looked at me in astonishment and declared, “You really can move fast when you want to.” Perhaps so, but I guess I just don’t have that desire for a hurried pace. I find it overly taxing.
Take my friend Allene, please (just kidding, another couldn’t resist.) She can’t sit still. She’s either cleaning or organizing or checking something on her work computer. On a vacation weekend, you’d think she could find it within herself to just relax and imbibe with me at ten in the morning, but no. She has to “do something.” I am very good at “doing” nothing. I think that is an oxymoron, doing nothing, so I hereby embrace my inner-oxymoronity. It describes me all too well.
Dear friend Steve T is the same way. When part of the “camping crowd,” he readily enjoys his typical beer for breakfast but then exhibits strange behaviors like getting up and accomplishing tasks. He even pulls out power tools. Power tools and camping don’t go together, Steve. We go camping to relax, have the twice a year Rummikub, Scrabble and Yahtzee Tournaments, and plant our bums in camp chairs with drinks in hand. Yet, you build things and go on hikes, hikes, I tell you! It’s just not right. Follow your wife’s lead. She knows how to camp/loaf. Karen and I are kindred camping souls and that’s just the way I like it.
Despite the amount of tasks I am getting done, I will be glad to get back to my old self. This odd feeling of great accomplishment can only last so long. To achieve it again, I will need to do more and more work to get this same sensation. It’s sort of like taking pain pills. You have to take a greater dose to make them work as well as they did initially. Ask Rush Limbaugh; he knows. If I keep this up, next thing you know, my house will be something uncharacteristic like “immaculate.” Dinner will be made every night and all the laundry will be done. People might begin to think I have been possessed by aliens, really energetic, clean aliens. They will mourn the loss of Lauren, good company to anyone sitting down. Hopefully, that will not happen, but if it does, at least I’ll get to hang out with my friend Steve.