I have good intentions of getting to the account work sitting on my desk... over there... to my left... I can see it from my seat here at the kitchen table.
As I gird my mental loins for that task, I take a coffee moment to think back over the week. My email was plump with news from friends living hither and yon:
- worrying news that Maggie My Maggie is in kidney failure again (she has a rare condition, a type of cirrhosis of the kidneys) but is fighting on to get through her term at Red Deer College;
- joyful news from Barbara of the Golden Voice that school choirs are underway, life is full and so is she (I'm sorry! couldn't resist), pregnant again and shall we hope for a boy to keep Number One Son company amongst his herd of sisters?;
- joyful news of another sort from Fair Fay as she travels on her challenging but always exciting journey of faith, I think perhaps made more poignant and enriched by the end-of-life travels that a few family members are now embarked upon;
- updates from Our Man Travis on the new book project - the course has a dogleg in it, which if you know the Hatch clan, is par for the course but we'll stay true to the course until the thing has run its course, of course (sorry for the mixed metaphors - I'm a terrible golfer, too!).
Our 'amazing' ice meant I did a lot of sweeping, good exercise to help me get to sleep. All the new work I've taken on at the newspaper this week has set my mind on overdrive. I tend to work things over and over in my brain throughout the night, my mental hard drive trying to process information, I suppose. It's always been that way with me. When I first started milking cows in New Zealand back a hundred years ago, I milked those damned cows twice a day and all night long for two weeks. When I began creating ad layouts 10 years ago, I did the same - designing over and over again all night long.
After a somewhat frantic time of it on Monday, paginating the Lake Country Calendar, I had a busy night of it. I wasn't sure during the real-time process exactly where all the files were that I needed and didn't have a run sheet to keep track of everything I needed to include (the person who did the work before, and who finished work there last Friday, 'just knew' where everything was and what needed to go in, and so never wrote any notes!). So that night, when I finally got to sleep, my dreams were filled with scenerios where I was missing my links (how a computer finds the information in one file to include in another document) - but none of my missing links were computer work. I'd be in a room, wondering where Karen was, only to be told that "she isn't here because you lost the link! If you'd filed her properly, none of this would have happened." That's not a restful dream.
I was telling Bryan about it the next evening at supper, and it came to me that I never have those work-through-it dreams about playing the piano, playing the violin, riding a motorcycle, even when there is new learning involved. Weird.
Speaking of violins, mine's now sporting shiny new strings and a new-to-it bridge courtesy Mr. Daher of Chilliwack who soujourns to Vernon of a day to bring relief to ailing string instruments. It sounds better. My instructor will be better pleased with me and my fiddle.
Those pesky books are now using their loud, annoying outside voices. Enough play time. Work must be done.