To much to do, so little time: a lament.
By Kevin Somers
Published November 27, 2007
Because the man could write, one of my heroes is E.B. White. White once did a brilliant, simple piece detailing the chores life had lined up for him. I feel his pain and love his work, so I've plagiarized his idea.
Like all jobs, mine consumes a lot of waking hours; days at work and evenings thinking about it.
Last Monday, a truck drove into the QEW's ditch and the 20 minute ride was suddenly an hour. Stress on stress.
My wife is out of town a lot, so I feel like a single parent sometimes, and it's tough. There are lunches to be made, homework to be done, notes to be read, agendas to be signed, pets to feed, and two wily, wild little girls to rise, raise, and put to bed; another fulltime job.
I'm making a magazine with Fred Eaglesmith. The inaugural issue of The Hobo Line is out and doing nicely, so there's another edition underway. As Conrad Black and Ryan McGreal will attest, it's not easy being a media magnate, but it's fun. (Until you go to jail. [What's that supposed to mean!? -Ed.)
Our basement is a disaster and requires immediate attention. The tools are all over the place and there is so much clutter it's driving us crazy.
We live in an old house so a lot of windows need to be changed, which is expensive and time consuming. We'll probably pay a pro. Many of our windows could use a washing. Somewhere, there's a floor that could stand being vacuumed or swept.
The leaves need to be raked. The shed needs a new roof. A couple of the flagstones on the path are coming up. Many of the house plants could use a drink. The toilet on the second floor is noisy and needs tweaking. Our bedroom needs to be painted. The rubber piece on the bottom of the patio door - it stops the drafts - has come undone and is flopping around. It looks like a pain in the ass to fix, so I ignore it. Sort of.
Like everyone, I'm trying to eat slower and exercise more often. Dr. Phil thinks I should spend more time with my wife.
I probably should visit my own doctor; it's been years. Same with the dentist. Glasses too.
My licence renewal is coming up and I've got to get an emissions test. My car needs to be washed and vacuumed. The water in the fish tank and the turtle tank should be changed soon.
There are a lot of sports highlights I have to watch everyday. It's nice to read and take naps and baths. I play old-man floor hockey twice a week, which I can't miss: it's the most fun I have. There's a lot of beer out there, and someone has to drink it before it goes bad. I try to be idle as much as possible.
I spend a lot of time planning additions we can't afford and small businesses I'll never start. Similarly, I'm constantly conniving to overthrow and replace George Bush.
I'm way behind on correspondence. Even with email, I don't get around to it. I'd feel worse, but it appears to be epidemic. I keep meaning to email TSN and congratulate them for having such a great network. Jay Onriat is the funniest man in Canada, perhaps the world.
I'm also trying to the raise the profile of global warming, peak oil, political corruption, gay rights, women's rights, gay women's rights, human rights, cock fights, all the oppressed and all their plights, seniors who die alone, families who have no home, preacher men who lie and steal then claim to know how Jesus feels, recycling, the mentally ill, the sick, the blind, little girls in the developing world, little boys in the developed one, my book and magazine.
I should walk the dog more. There are birthday parties, indoor soccer, dance, visits and sleepovers.
I'd like to write another book, but that's a big project; the first one took 12 years. There's the RTH deadline coming up, so I've got to finish writing this. I want to write about Tonga, Frank Panabaker, Paul Weller, poetry, and plants someday, too. There are a few poems kicking around inside my head that I'd like to pull out.
It's late, however, so I think I'll just kiss my girlie girls and go to bed.
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