You could say I am busy, I mean, if you want.
The source of my busyness comes from being a parent to two growing life-forms. They're humans, so this means they need things. Food. Shelter. Charged iPads.
I am also a writer working on publishing a fiction book.
And yet, with everything before me, sometimes I act as if I have all of the time in the world.
I follow the castmastes of "Southern Charm" on twitter...
I walk around my house checking the undersides of all of my plants...
I'll roam the aisles of Home Goods for so long I'll start to panic, "wait, how long have I been in here? What time is it? What year...?"
These actions don't go guilt-free.
Sometimes, when I'm not doing what I think I should be doing (i.e. writing, or putting away the mountain of wash that got cleaned last Monday yet sits overflowing from a laundry basket at the top of the stairs), I'll imagine an outsider watching me. An alien glaring down from its highly-efficient planet casting stony-eyes in my direction as I stop to Google what happened to Colin and Amaya from "The Real World Hawaii," or rearrange a cluster of framed pictures on a wall. (I'll take a few steps closer, take a few steps back, tap the corner of one down ever so slightly...)
"What on Earth is she doing?" I'll imagine the alien saying, thick in its alien-judgment as I spin in my vortex of epic wastes of time.
I'll feel the need to defend...
"I'm checking my palm tree for mealybugs!"
"The kids need bathing suits!"
"I just had to know!"
(Though one time I'll never feel guilty about stopping for is Hammertime. You can't. Touch. This.)
My plan was to start a site to confess to such happenings. And if I could waste time writing about how much time I am wasting--and nobody reads it—I mean, that right there would be some time-wasting gold.
But instead of buckling down and creating a Web site, Home Goods, the Time-Wasting Mothership, called.
I went to there...
...and that's where I saw this:
I took this sign as a sign.
I realized, I can't judge the [seemingly ridiculous] things I do on a daily basis, because they are something. They, too, are my life. And many of these things make me happy.
(Except the laundry).
(I really just can't with the laundry.)
So if you find yourself plowing through the minutia of daily living, vacillating between working hard and being AWESOME at whatever it is you awesomely do...
...and spending seven minutes in the dairy aisle over-thinking which brand of Greek yogurt to purchase, welcome, this site is for you.
A happy place...
A place for happy time wasters...
Where we celebrate the little things.
The irony of human existence spent dreaming big, vs. the days comprising it lived so very small. The fantastical worlds and whole lifetimes that happen not out there, but within the square feet of our homes.
Now come, I'm going to make a list of things I have no interest in knowing about, like juicing, and the Final Four, and you, too, can get in on this excitement.
Adventure awaits us all...