What began as an attempt to move my router and modem from their pre­car­i­ous posi­tions on top of my (top-opening) deep freezer, turned into a com­plete reor­ga­niz­ing of all the closet space on the bed­room level of my house over the week­end. This means I had to pull every­thing out to see what I was deal­ing with, decide how to sort it all, and buy shelv­ing units and stor­age bins to store them.

It was a race to get every­thing packed away (or thrown out) and off the floors of the bed­rooms and hall­ways before the week­end was over so I wouldn’t have to sleep sur­rounded by the mess. I dis­turbed many a spider’s home this week­end, and in doing so, had to kill the spi­ders as well.

But it didn’t stop there, oh no. At 10:30 last night, with my bed­time closely approach­ing — and my eyes dry­ing out from the exhaus­tion — I got my iron­ing done, and my lat­est batch of music added to my iPod.

It seems like it’s another week­end gone, chip­ping my nails, dam­ag­ing my fin­gers. Non-stop, save a phone call with John.

The last few week­ends was lit­er­ally spent in bed with my muse, so I guess I was just mak­ing up for pro­duc­tive time that I haven’t had in a while.

Bronwen and I agreed to try to see each other at least once a month. Which doesn’t seem like a lot at only 12 times a year, but I think of the last time I saw Pat or Aaron, and it was on New Years.

I’m also try­ing to make doc­u­men­tary nights and Sunday brunches a reg­u­lar thing. The fre­quency of reg­u­lar remains to be seen.

It seems like even my relax­ing time needs to be planned and sched­uled. I’m tak­ing a break from God of War 2 to play Black and White 2, which I never fin­ished. My next book­ing with Dan is over a month from now, but I just received noti­fi­ca­tion that it has to moved back to accom­mo­date for other venture.

I’m still going with projects, start­ing new ones before the old ones are fin­ished. I’ve decided that I can’t stop the cre­ative process, and that forc­ing myself to stick with one until com­ple­tion makes it a chore. I like to have my fin­gers in sev­eral pies at once, so that I can take a break from one but still be pro­duc­tive by mov­ing to another.

It seems like the busy­ness never ends. Is this what being an adult is like?