“You haul 16 tons, and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt.”– Ernie Ford, “Sixteen Tons”
Day two of my newer quest, and, alas, I’m already deferring my workout, my writing and even my quest for a cure to my son’s headache for another day.
See, it’s been a day of heavy lifting, but of the wrong sort. It’s been the sort of day when you write a word, get a phone call, write a second word, get another phone call, write a third word, get a … well, you get the picture.
And one of those phone calls, the one I’d been waiting and waiting to get, was interrupted by a fire alarm.
If work were a treadmill, it would have been on high today – so high that no matter how fast I ran, I would have fallen on my bum.
after disciplining one son for a school prank …
(I’m trying to decide the full extent of that punishment. No friends over, community service, reading to the elderly, cleaning our floors with a toothbrush?)
and sending the other to take a bath in Epsom salts …
(Please let it relax his muscles and ease his headache, just a little. Please. Please. Please?)
and tucking them in …
I am climbing on that virtual treadmill again, doing some work and hoping, against hope, that I won’t fall on my bum again tomorrow.
And, maybe tomorrow, I’ll finally climb back on our real treadmill.
Those goals again: