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Wednesday, August 17, 2022

The More I Do, the Less I Get Done

 Lately, I am busy all the time, but my to-do list is only getting longer. I start a dozen different projects, and once I get them past the critical point, I stop and move on to the next one.

At work, we used to call it putting out fires. The fire burning the hottest, and the most likely to get out of control, takes priority over the other slow burning fires. Eventually, you notice that the out-of-control fires are getting all the attention.

 

I definitely do not multi-task as well as I used to. Distractions slow me down and sometimes bring the task at hand to a grinding halt. I’m having a hard time working on projects my head tells me I need to do when my heart is tugging me toward something that I want to do. I would much rather play my ukulele than work on accounting.

 

When the real feel temperature outside is triple digits, I attend to my inside chores and projects. Earlier this week, we had a day with a high in the 70s. I decided to go outside and mow around my flowerbed and use the weed eater on the parts I couldn’t get too.

 

When I finished with the flowerbed, I tackled the weeds between the hydrant and the well. Soon, I noticed a squishing with each step I took. The area was saturated with water and the ground underfoot was soggy from a leak. We couldn’t find anyone who could fit us into their schedule for the next two weeks. Harold’s cousin came to the rescue, but the leak is stubbornly deep. My fifteen-minute job of weed eating on a nice day turned into a weeklong distraction that hasn’t ended yet.

 

Let’s just say one-call to locate underground lines took a dozen calls. The phone company said that we had no service. Harold’s response, “Does that mean I don’t have to pay the bill?” After a day of calls to renew job tickets, a contractor showed up to locate our phone line. It was exactly where I remembered them locating it before when they remembered we had phone service.

 

Lately, I have as many distractions and disruptions as I did when I was a full-time caregiver. If I found a task to do that required concentration, I would suddenly hear a door slam and know I’d have to stop Jim from going down the road. If I zigged, Jim zagged.

 

As a caregiver, I was often exhausted—mentally, as well as, physically. I suffered from a chronic lack of sleep, and was emotionally drained.

 

Watching a loved one slipping through the different stages of dementia is disheartening. Remaining calm, focused, and contented becomes a challenge. I found that volunteering for the Alzheimer’s Association made me feel as if I was making a positive out of a negative. The fulfillment of accomplishment helped offset the sense of failure.

 

I could always encourage other caregivers and understand their frustrations, but I expected more out of myself than I could give. I crept closer and closer to the tipping point. My friends, family, and my physician told me that I needed to take care of myself too.

 

Sometimes, I think I’m almost at that same intersection between rest and busyness again. I chronically stay up too late and have to get up too early. I’m running low on energy, which only makes me struggle to keep up with my obligations. While I’m busy doing one task, other projects become more imminent and urgent.

 

I crave more downtime. I miss the feeling of accomplishment when the work is completed and it is time to play. I haven’t decided whether I should buckle down and finish my to-do list, or delete it altogether and start from scratch with a focus on stress reduction.

 

Copyright © August 2022 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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