“A schedule broken at will becomes a mere procession of vagaries.”
—Nero Wolfe in Murder by the Book, p. 194
I was reading escapist fiction. First thing in the morning, which is a very escapist thing to do…particularly in summertime when I’ve told myself I’m going to mow and trim the yard. The day only gets hotter, y’know.
And I was still 50 pages from the end when I bumped into that quote.
Ouch. Procession of vagaries, indeed. For the past three weeks, no day has felt effective and no routine has settled (back) in.
Reader, I finished the book. I figured I was already vague.
All these weeks I’ve rolled around a “not my fault!” defense. Having B underfoot is quite different, particularly since she is still spending her days consuming media from my couch. (Her almost-certain employer has yet to put her on their payroll.) She is enjoying sharing little moments with me, knowing me for an appreciative audience. And I like this! It’s what I missed most about her being at school.
I like doing nothing in particular except sharing interesting bits with someone witty and fun.
But I don’t like feeling behind in all the things that People Who Don’t Live Here are patiently waiting for me to hand over.
And I don’t like still not having my assignment ready to hand in. There’s a little more than a week before the due date, but really. Three months’ elapsed time for 5000 words? Or (more likely) one-fifth of that? Boo.
All my good intentions.
All my ‘savoir’ of streamlining effort through routinized behavior .
But no ‘connaitre’. And therefore no practice.