It occurred to me lately that I’m always rushing to be somewhere, do something, etc. I am ALWAYS rushing to get to work by 9:30am which is absurd because a) 9:30am is not that early and b) my commute is a 15 minute walk. It’s not that I can’t wake up in the morning; I get up early almost every day to go to the gym. But getting ready and out the door to work is always a challenge. I either change my outfit three times or can’t resist checking my personal email before leaving my apartment and so, by the time I leave, it’s 9:15. If I’m wearing heels, walking briskly is out of the question and I never fail to miss each and every light on my walk. Regardless of what time I leave, the traffic lights are working against me. Anyway, by the time I get to work (9:29 on a good day), I’m usually out of breath and sweating. I can think of other activities that leave me breathless and sweating and they are immensely more pleasurable than commuting to work. *sigh*.
The holiday season lends itself to more family time and for the last few weekends, I’ve needed to commute by train to my parent’s house. I always leave myself with exactly the amount of time I need to get to Grand Central, purchase my round trip ticket and hop on the train. Unfortunately, my scheduling does not allow for unforeseen circumstances like last week’s city bar crawl which resulted in hundreds of twenty-somethings dressed up like Santa Claus convening in Grand Central, blocking my way to the train track. I pushed, elbowed and cursed my way through the crowd while grunting “I have to make my train. For the love of God, get the f%k out of my way!” and finally made it to my train, yes, breathless and sweating. I vowed to leave myself more time moving forward but I’m going to my parent’s for an early Chanukah dinner today and will most certainly have to rush to make the train.
I find myself rushing to do other things besides commute. For instance, I have written 38 pages of my third novel and am already stressing out over when I’ll finish it. I am not on a deadline so where’s the fire? I have at least ten books on my “to-read” list, including several written by some new Twitter buddies, and am stressing out over when I’ll get to them. Unless you’re reading for work or school, the words “reading” and “stress” should not be in the same sentence but welcome to my world. I’m always rushing to write my weekly blog. Nobody is forcing me to write it on a weekly basis, except me. Christmas is in a week and I haven’t purchased gifts for three of my nieces and nephews. Ok, that deadline cannot be extended so it looks like there will be a last-minute rush to purchase gift cards.
I bragged to my mom that my friend Abbe’s mother let me help cook theThanksgiving dinner. My assistance consisted of peeling the potatoes, peeling the shrimp and opening up bags of lettuce for the salad but I felt useful. I never feel useful at my own family dinners because I am never expected to help out. I am the designated eater. I thought it might be time to contribute being that I’m not ten years old (or 20 or 30). My mother teased me about my lack of cooking experience and so I offered to make a dish for Chanukah dinner. I never expected her to take me seriously so imagine my surprise (and horror) when she left a message on my voicemail Friday asking what I was bringing and expressing her excitement that I would be preparing it with my “own little hands.” First I cursed myself for opening up my big, fat, mouth and then I panicked because I had no idea what to make. I emailed some friends for advice but wound up finding a very simple side dish by searching “very easy side dish recipes” on Google. I had to rush to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients because, no, I don’t keep butter in my apartment.
The point of this blog is…well, I’m not quite sure, but it’s been over a week since my last post and I was in a hurry!