The end of June was overwhelming. I had felt going in to the Writers at Work conference like I was forgetting something. Then, my grandmother died and I felt awful that I hadn't seen her all month. She was one of my favorite people and, though she was old and ready to go, I wished I had focused on her more narrowly these past few weeks. But overall it made me rethink how I organize my time. Since most of what I do is volunteer--even Quarterly West this time of year is unpaid work--I've decided I'm going to start prioritizing not what is most urgent, pressing or seemingly necessary because I've been asked to do it by others, but to really see what I choose to do first.
This week, of course, it was family. And I missed the end of the conference, cancelled my creative writing class, skipped emailing and blogging and really tried to stay out of business (busy-ness) worries. It ended up being a relaxing, though very sad, week.
This upcoming week, with my sister Paige in town, I plan to do more of the same, as well as teach, but I think I'll avoid the Quarterly West office for awhile. I also plan to write more of this essay about predators today. Plus, I'll try to send some money to someone who will waste it trying to get O'Connor's seat replaced with a moderate on the Supreme Court. Ha! Oh well. I through money at Kerry for this very reason. I think I spent last summer, in very small increments at a time, over $500 last year. Maybe, like I do with Basketball teams I like, is not participate. The team I root for invariably loses. Though that may be because I tend to root for the underdog.
One last note, speaking of dogs. I took Cleo the dog to the Vet on Monday to look at a knot on her leg. She doesn't like the vet every since her hip surgeries. But this was new to me. In front of vet's office door, on 1st South between 3rd & 4th east, Cleo went belly up, legs sticking in the air and refused to budge. I, now hugely pregnant, tugged and begged and dragged in front of a couple dozen lookers-on. I put her back in the car and went in to tell the receptionist to forget it.
The receptionist gave me some biscuits and a tightening collar--neither of which worked with any effect. Finally, the receptionist asked Dr. Ponce if she would come out and look at Cleo on the parking strip, on 1st South, between 3rd and 4th, to see if the bump was something to be concerned about. She couldn't tell. Cleo would need x-rays to be sure. But she didn't think it was cancerous. There's no way I am taking her back there for x-rays. I asked my brother-in-law Doug, who works at Simmon's x-ray, if he could take a picture. Sure he said, but we don't have a darkroom. There's no way to develop it.
So, Cleo, who doesn't seem to mind the bump (and whom I gave chocolate to last night--which made her throw up all night. She's never minded a tiny bit of chocolate before. I guess I learned my lesson!), is now just triumphant that she can avoid another vet visit at least until I have the baby and start working out and can carry her 90 pound fat butt into the office myself.