Yes, Inner Voice, I know. You don't have to rub it in.....
The last week or 2 has been something likened to the finals week of my college days of yore.
And although this is not so unusual; most last or first weeks of the month are a bit of a crunch, as I wrap up my monthly exhibition preparations and get it hung.
But this most recent spat of show prep was especially strenuous. There have been all sorts of events and coffee dates with old friends that I didn't want to postpone or miss.
And I just picked up that lovely little job as well.
So I have been literally spending almost entire days running every time I need to get from point A to point B, even just inside my house.
And succeeding at accomplishing 10 tasks at once to only later realize I have no idea if I tended to this or that, or least have no recollection of it.
Plus, early on Saturday morning my girlfriends and I found ourselves face to face with 408 stairs leading up the side of a hill, beyond our scope of vision, through sweet patches of evergreens and groupings of lovely homes. Of course we had to I skip to the top and then wobble down.
Sunday morning I was bounding up and down a ladder, 15 feet up with 10 pound paintings, stretching and twisting and balancing for my life, for the better part of 2 hours, to get the art up .
Then there was that screw driver that slipped and plunged a hole into my thumb with the force of caffeine and anxiety as I frantically affixed hanging wire to the backs of my new paintings.
Barely felt that. But it looks like it would've REALLY hurt with out all that adrenaline thrown into the mix..
It's Tuesday and I am STILL Exhausted, capital E for "Erg".
I have had about 2 days to recover from all that and I feel like I took a yoga class after not having moved a muscle for a whole year.
A lot of the average age alerts that my peers may feel a bit lately have yet to catch up with me.
I can, don't throw things at me, pretty much eat whatever I want and not notice a change in my waist line.
My skin hasn't been too damaged by the sun (because it does soooo well to "moisturize" itself with some less than glamorous side affects, now we're even about that waistline thing.)
I don't smoke or drink all that much.
I'm just kind of a baby face, in truth, don't love that either. I am often mistaken for, by other adults and also treated as if I were fresh out of the nest.
It's been easy for me to ignore that I'm not getting any younger. At times I even have to remind myself and convince others too that I am pretty capable and self sufficient. All grown up in the big city and managing like Mary, Mary Tyler Moore, that is.
But not today. Today I'm understanding the meaning of crotchety.
Me and my old, sweet, mean, grumpy cat are a couple of peas in this wilted, boiled, pod.
Let me see if I can creak around the house a bit to catch up on that cleaning I neglected while I was so preoccupied.
My house sure looks like a bunch of kids have taken over, or at least a couple of frat boys.
In fact, maybe they did, I wouldn't have even noticed.
Wish me luck!