I'm sure most women designate a day each week for annoying chores that build over time. Because my work schedule is flexible, my catch-all day is Tuesday. It's crammed with running to the post office, grabbing dog food at the pet store, stopping at the outlet shops, and my favorite, tackling the toilets.
I hate Tuesdays. Not because I do all the things I dislike, but because it's never a day that makes me proud. I've never felt fulfilled because I remembered all the letters or bills for the post office or that I finally removed the rust from the bolt on the toilet. The humdrum of the day escalates to guilt because my list of duties is never completed. There's always an interruption that steals too much time and shreds my list in a dust storm of activity, leaving an even bigger mess behind.
Last Tuesday was no different. I opened my eyes just as our cuckoo clock tweeted six times. I wondered if hearing the cuckoo first was an ominous commentary for my list-filled day. I tried to move out of bed but my arm refused to budge from a rotator cuff injury.
Great. I guess I'd better call the doctor, I thought, feeling the pain getting worse. This new interruption was going to throw off my whole day of trying to handle my already-full list.
With only one eye open I stumbled into the bathroom. My husband, Ron, had changed the light bulbs from a safe 60 watt to a spotlight 380 watt. I clutched my eyes trying to spare myself from being blinded. I should remind him that at our age there are a few things I prefer to leave unlit.1