If I were the one calling the forecast, there’d be lots of fog in it.
That’s how I’ve felt all week — foggy — after using up all creative credit on Sunday night when I mapped out my to-do list and schedule for conquering it.
Fog started rolling in on Monday morning after dropping my car at the mechanic’s and learning a simple repair job was anything but. I drive a 16-year-old Toyota Echo with 350,000 clicks on it. My boiler suit-wearing friend warning me of all that ails the Echo needs to be approached with a measured response. I have to weigh how many new car payments his big bill would cover.
Then there was the time eaten up as I moved from coffee shop to coffee shop to work and not seem like too much of a loiterer while I waited for my sickly wheels to be brought back to health. Productivity wasn’t where I’d hoped it would be by day’s end, what with all the self-conscious moving from one seat to another. The to-do list needed some revising and the week had only begun.