I’ve been doing a lot of waiting lately, as my kids have taken on a slew of new activities. On Mondays I wait in the waiting room of the occupational therapy office. On Wednesdays I wait in the crowed parent-viewing area of the gymnastics place. Starting last week, on Thursdays I now wait in a much less crowded parent-viewing area of a different gymnastics place. It’s a lot of running around for someone who doesn’t particularly like to run around, but the silver lining is that I have a legit excuse for not making dinner on those evenings.
I’ve felt busier than ever lately, so this waiting thing is especially hard for me. I almost always take my laptop on these outings, but I rarely use it. I fantasize about getting some work done, like a lazy person fantasizes about running a marathon, I suppose. But the truth is, the wifi in the therapy place is terrible, as is the reception on the waiting room music. Hey Soul Sister’s bad enough when it’s coming through crystal clear.
The wifi in the Wednesday gymnastics place is downright broken, which makes me wonder what kind of show they’re running. The kind of show where I’m looking around to figure out whose hot spot that is coming up on my network list so I can go make friends with them, that’s what kind of show. Plus their soda machine is always empty, which just makes me thirsty. I haven’t tried the wifi at Thursday’s place because last week I was too busy reading the Zola story on my phone. #TrueStory
Last week at my monthly writers’ group, a few of us lamented the fact that we had so little “me” time. Many of us work from home full or part time. Most of us have kids in school. All of us wanted more time to sit and read or binge watch Sex and the City or stare at the walls even. Obviously we take this talking about writing thing 115% seriously.
The difficulty in working from home for me is shutting it off; anytime I have a spare moment, I could be working. But I shouldn’t feel that way. Because sometimes a girl’s just gotta sit down with some chocolate cheerios and some Carrie Bradshaw.
Each Monday I haul out my laptop in the therapy waiting room and spend fifteen minutes getting frustrated over the crappy dial-up worthy load times before putting it away in favor of something else. I am the epitome of doing the same thing every time and expecting different results, when in fact I should just resign myself to doing something I want to do during that hour: read, write, or walk circles around the waiting room to up my step count. This Monday I wrote this lovely post. But next Monday, I’m leaving the laptop at home.