Sometimes I need help.
Whoooo … I can’t believe I just said that.
It is always one of the hardest things for me to admit.
I need help.
Yep, I certainly do.
My mother raised me from a young age to be independent and self-reliant. She told me to be a career girl, to not get married.
She got her wish.
But here I sit trying to figure out how to get some things done when life just won’t stop getting in the way.
So, I have a big project on the go at work. I put in 30-plus hours of overtime in one two-week pay period.
Certain things didn’t get done.
And being a single girl, there isn’t anyone else to do them.
If I could just train Shep to carry a load of clothes to the washing machine, drop a glob of detergent in and go back to his regularly scheduled napping, some things would be tickety-boo.
Instead, I have to figure out when to squeeze in the six loads of laundry that accumulate very quickly … sometimes, I swear that damn basket is bottomless.
Funny thing is, many of those things with which I need help? They’re the most menial of tasks … and because they’re mindless and monotonous, I actually enjoy doing them.
They’re so monotonous that they require no thinking whatsoever … just the kind of thing I need after putting in 11- and 12-hour days of writing.
Now that doesn’t include walking my dog, reading and going to the gym.
Those are two of the activities I enjoy the most of all and I have to make time to do them.
But where’s the time to get the clothes washed, the dog hair swept off the floor, the dishes cleaned, the garbage taken out, the groceries bought, the dinners made …
Oh Mother Hubbard, my cupboards are bare and I’ve been eating takeout since Tuesday.
Things should start settling down in about a month, once we get our project completed and move on to the next task.
But in the meantime, I need help.
I can put a spare key in the mailbox in case any of you are interested.