It’s been said that if you want something done, give it to the busiest person in the office. This is the sort of cross stitch clique that I hate… but I have to admit it’s true. The first 6 months of my year were crazy busy at work; we’re talking lost weekends, long nights and one particularly memorable all nighter that just happened to coincide with my birthday. Humph. But then, thanks to the ebb and flow glory that is litigation, all of a sudden, my work disappeared and I was left with absolutely nothing to do. I mean, literally nothing. During the first week I kept busy by organizing my office. Then I started pestering my coworkers for projects. Now I just stare at my screens and count backwards from 480 minutes.
For the record, I am not complaining. Not at all. I greatly prefer this to trying to answer hundreds of emails, be in 5 places at once and just generally meet unrealistic expectations… but I marvel at how lazy being “not busy” has made me, and it’s not just at work. The lazy monster has infiltrated every aspect of my life. I know I’m capable of working a long week then coming home and accomplishing great things. Ok, great is probably a bit of a stretch, but I’m capable of coming home after a 14 hour day and doing dishes, going to the grocery store, making progress in whatever book I’m reading, maintaining my etsy site, etc. But now that my work days have morphed in eight hour long sporkle binges, I seem to have lost the ability to do anything else. Honestly the only things I’ve managed to do in the last three weeks are gain an unnatural obsession with the bachelorette and attract a cruel (but brief) stomach bug. That’s it. I don’t know where the time goes.
I think the issue is that when I’m busy I plan my whole day with lists and calendar reminders which keep me focused and on task, but for precisely this reason, I REALLY resent lists and calendars, and when I’m not busy I forego them. Without structure and pressure I lose all motivation and forget that I have to pick up my dry cleaning/go to the grocery store/leave the house. As a result I find myself still in my PJs at 6pm on a Sunday, halfway through a veronica mars marathon and eating take out. It’s becoming a problem.