I like to stay busy. I give myself assignments to make me a better person, in theory. Write a socially woke short story. Give a speech with fewer notes each time until you can wing it. Take 10,000 steps a day. Lift. Stretch. Watch a TED Talk. Read 60 books per year. Spend times with the pups each day. Play a video game campaign so Lemur gets credit for playing the co-op campaign. Sleep.
Work. Work, work, work. Work comes first for me. It always has and it always will. My career has changed over the years. What I once used to be able to accomplish in forty hours a week has become a constant race against the clock and finding time elsewhere amidst the chaos of daily life to pull valuable hours for a looming deadline.
When you add in a health issue that occasionally causes me to be less than my best, either with blurred vision or constant headaches, I'm working more and enjoying it less. Some of my busywork chores (or games, like Pokemon Go) are left by the wayside as I struggle to find time to live.
The steps, lifting, and stretching all stay. Even if I go blind, I'm going to need this body in optimum health so I can keep working.
The reading is important, but maybe I'll switch to Audible for now. I need to revisit listening, anyway. I find I hear way too much and I don't pay attention to what I should until it's too late.
Time with the pups is a great stress release. Plus it's how I get my steps. I could probably listen to a book and walk the dogs at the same time. I know they say multitasking isn't a true brain function, but I like doing multiple things at once.
One thing I haven't had time to do lately is write. When I do, I feel guilty. I should be focusing more on the work that pays, not on the hobby that makes me cry more than anything.
I'd given myself another task today, my one full day of writing. I was going to go to a political shindig. I received a free ticket, and like any idiot with the opportunity for free stuff, I accepted without thinking of the time commitment, not to mention the other 11,999 people invited. No. No thank you very much.
Instead, I declined the invitation, uneventful compared to uninviting a vampire from your house. I clicked a button in the email, one they didn't even want me to see, and then it was done. Uninvited. Sorry, candidate. I still support you, I just don't see the value in wasting another writing day doing something that won't even matter fourteen months from now.
Writing this story will matter, at least to me. If nothing else, it will add to the total number or words and practice I've completed to master my craft. While that's definitely more important to me than most things, I give it too little attention. Instead, I compile hours of busy work.