By Jacki Michels, for the Redoubt Reporter
I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve been foolish in the past but I know I will have the same summer paperwork project due this year as I did last year. It’s only April, but I’m going to start collecting notes next month. I will keep it ALL in one notebook and then transfer all my data on to nice, crispy, neat forms in the fall.
To go along with my good intentions I’ve purchased a sleek notebook with a sturdy plastic cover and a nice erasable pen. I will keep it on-site and diligently collect my data. How hard is that? This is a piece of cake.
Is it June already? Ohmygosh! So stinking busy! Where’s that notebook? I looked for it for days while keeping data on odd scraps of paper. Finally bought another notebook, recorded vital data in it and *poof* the first notebook materializes. Now I’ve got data in three places. Mental note, keep it all in one spot! P.S.: I’ve got to work on my handwriting or I’ll never decipher this disaster.
Where did summer go? July and August have melted into September. Where are those notebooks? I know if I cleaned the house I’d find the notebooks and scraps, but I since the house is going up for sale I decided I needed to clean more. I found everything but I can’t seem to stop cleaning. It’s nice outside. It’s hard to do paperwork when it’s nice outside. I should scrub behind the toilets. The weather bug predicts sunshine all week. I’m depressed. I need therapy.
I don’t know why I write to you. Like you’ve been much help these days. I mean, really, it’s late October! I should be finishing this project, not writing to you. I went to look over the data and it was a mess, I tell you! A disaster! The lovely pen I started with must have skipped town, along with my good intentions. The cheap scribble stick I fished out of the bottom of my backpack left ink streaks all over. A few entries were made by an anemic pencil. One entry was in crayon. I should have been a doctor — I can’t decipher my own writing. I think I have a cold. I need a nap. I need warm soup. I need my mom. Maybe I’ll call her.
The house is a mess again and after filling out a survey for our insurance company they recommend some stress management. It’s November and it’s positively nippy outside but I feel like I’m being licked by the flames of hell as I sit here. I’m frying! Sprinkle me with holy water and drown me in a vat of margaritas. I have been at this for an hour now and I’m miserable. Diary, is it possible that I have attention deficit — hey, look! I’m on my last section of this form. Seriously? Was that all? I’m done? No way. That wasn’t so bad.
I am very sorry for being so difficult. I hope we can still be friends. You know how I get with paperwork. I love you always.
P.S.: Did I mention I can’t remember what box I packed the tax receipts in?
- Grounds for staying married: Fetching wife hot tea and her favorite lunch and being careful not to say the wrong thing or look at her the wrong way, but not ignoring her or bugging her while she is doing the paperwork, because it seemed she was right on the edge.
Jacki Michels is a freelance writer who lives (and loves) in Soldotna.