The last few weeks have been completely hectic and full of odd little moments. However, to try and recall everything in a cogent manner would require my being in completely different state of mind. Um, sane. While Boy Wonder has mercifully finished 4th grade, my list of things to do seems to be breeding. Wildly breeding. Beyond your imagination or any pathetic analogies I can muster, breeding. Which makes me wonder, why is it my “list” gets to have sex and I don’t? Oh yeah, because it’s not on my list.

And I have to say–this break-neck speed at which I’m attempting to travel is rather difficult to navigate and well, not so scenic. I’m looking forward to slowing down. Evidently, that might be when I’m dead.

I have two responses to chaos. The first is to get organized. In a pitiful attempt to stem the onslaught of list fertility, I vainly strike out at everything within reach of finishing. Oh yeah, Friday is the 16th Anniversary of that day when people expect you to don a frumpy dress, (fashionable at the time, but will be the cause of much mocking by your future offspring) walk down an aisle carrying a veritable allergy attack, and pledge your allegiance troth (what the hell is a troth, anyhow?) to the other dressed up person standing in front of the minister. I should figure out what gift to get my counterpart in this past crime of fashion. And once I figure that out, I should go get it. And MARK IT OFF MY LIST. Death to gift!

So. I ask dear IZ what he wants for our anniversary, as it is just days away and I’m trying hard to be fruitful and not let my list multiply. His answer? One word. Sex.

Ok. Sex on Friday, check. Apparently, I do get to have sex as it is now on my list. Look closely, dear reader, for this postmodern romance at its height!

Included on my list of things to do in the next ten days is submit a proposal for 4 workshops in Spirituality to be done in the next year. Yes, that’s right folks, past my non-paying, let’s take advantage of the intern, internship. Them be paying gigs. Or, they will be if I ever get my proposal in. And then there is the banner series I want to get done for the summer. So that when the kites come down in July, the sanctuary doesn’t feel completely naked. Naked church sounds scary, right? Nobody wants to see that! Banners mean paint, paint means. . .

Oh! Oh! Oh! My list just handed me an update, and it appears that my house has put in the following request by memo:

“Dear home ownerish type, could you please finish what you started 10 months ago? Your parents are coming in 9 days and I don’t want to be seen in this state of undress. Naked Church will have to wait, I was first in line!”

MY PARENTS ARE COMING? How come I’m always the last to know these things, huh? Oh, refer to the list. I see. Yes, it is there. In the fine print. Very clever. S i g h. There is no end to this. Breeding. Breeding. Good grief, get a room!

The second way of dealing with the chaos involves my addiction to pot. However, even here the organization has the upper hand. A last minute trip to Portland on Sunday supplied me with the necessary plant life to put in the new bed in the back yard. However, gardening appears on the list with a contingency. Observe:

  1. Clean your pit of a house before the health inspector condemns it.
  2. Laundry… you know, that stuff you put on your body so other people don’t see how fat you’ve gotten? Yeah, DO THAT.
  3. Speaking of your misshapen body–try exercising.
  4. If these things get done AND the sun comes out (which means you should just stop holding your breath NOW. You live in Oregon, remember?) go out and put in those plants.

Kill Joy.

So, you can see, dear reader, I find myself in the hands of a wicked, sarcastic, malcontented, sex-addicted list that will NOT let me rest. The only reason I’m even writing this is because on the bottom of that list are the following words: Update Your Blog.