Some Call it Grouting; Do I Call it Love?

You Busy? Me too. Always, lately. Too busy. Which is why last Monday stands out. (For two maybe related maybe not reasons.)

I woke to a anomaly: a full empty day before me. When I write "full" I mean: The maximum number of non-sleep hours before me; the sun was not even fully up before I was. Wallowing in that rare luxury of nothing-scheduled/nothing-planned, I showered & dressed. . .

Next thing I knew it was after 10:00pm, my it's-a-school-night-get-ready for bedtime.


As I groaned my way into a TV chair to watch a quick wind-down program, it dawned on me that I was literally sitting down for the first time all day.

But here's the weird part: 

I have absolutely no recollection of how I spent all those hours. . .

I sat there trying to recall what I'd done with the day, how I'd spent those long, empty, unscheduled 16 hours I'd begun with, but couldn't. The last clear thought I had was standing before the mirror after showering that morning, overjoyed at the possibility all that unscheduled time presented and pondering what I wanted to do.

Flashes of meals, phone calls, messages, a trip to the post office and drug store, flitted to mind, like flashbacks in an amnesia movie. But none memorable enough, or long enough to consume an hour, let alone 16 of them. Where the heck had the day gone? 

 A couple of weeks ago, I read a blog post by author Fred Venturini, titled "The Accidental Novelist," in which he discussed how the key to his success could be summed up in one word: Luck. (Which, in Fred Baby's case,  is the same as saying Ben Franklin's discovery of energy was a matter of being in the right place at the right time. Yeah right, everyone knows a key & kite are standard issue rain gear.) Blah-blah-blah, luck-schmuck.

Luck? Maybe. Just as Ben was lucky he was prepared when that mega electrical storm hit, Venturini was prepared. As he told the woman who scoffed at his "luck" answer, Fred had been writing, writing, writing and had several manuscripts to show for his efforts that fateful "lucky" day.

I'm not such  a fan of "good luck" stories. They leave me hopeless. I don't like the thinking getting what I want, what I work so hard for, may hinge on random chance, whimsy, kismet, simple twist of fate.

I am a total fan of "Persistence Paid" stories. My take away: with all Venturini had going on--mega buzzy bee buzy --he could have written so much and had sooo many stories to show for it when his lucky break came struck me. And it's one reason why my lost Monday is so worrisome. In response to that lady--and my--amazement as his prolificness, Fred said:

We find time for the things we must/need to do; we MAKE TIME for the things we love/want to do

 About Monday, one thing I know I did: I mopped my bedroom and all the upstairs bathroom floors, then sealed the grout in said bathrooms.


This has me really worried. As I piece together the remains of my yesterday, I have to ask, what the heck is my problem?

Do I really love stain-free grout so much that I'd spend my only in the foreseeable future free day, sealing bathroom grout? Do I love stainfree grout more than I love say, writing? Or sleeping? Or Fill-in-the-Blank ????

Or, am I so programmed to do what I must do that I do not Make Time for what I love/want to do?

What about you?

Some Call it Grouting; Do I Call it "LOVE"? Playlist:

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