Time Is Money


The Joy of Emails

You’ve heard of the million- mile marker? Well, I’m nearing the million- email marker. 
 
Every morning my routine includes feeding the cats, feeding myself, making coffee, and deleting 80 emails. 
 
This takes time. 
 
Isn’t there an old saying, “time is money.”  It’s almost as if whoever said this had a glimpse into the future of the email world… maybe Nostradamus.
 
They’ve Got To Go

The solution was simple. I decided to delete all my old emails. It seemed efficient. However, it appears the window on this idea has slammed shut.
 
 Gmail was easy (fewer emails), but Yahoo…not so much. I waved the white flag when I realized my deletions had only progressed to 2017. This is 2021. I could see the trend. My finger was tired.
 
I recently joined a service that sends out automated marketing emails. The problem…no one opens my emails. I’m one of the 80 they delete every morning. I feel a little guilty for even sending them out. If time is money, I feel like I’m stealing their time.

A Light Bulb Moment
 
Here’s an idea. Maybe instead of putting people through the drudgery of deleting email messages, emails could be recorded subliminally. You could listen to them in your sleep, or even take a email messages “power nap”.
 
Another time-eater is the batch of computer glitches I sometimes endure. Yesterday the printer wouldn’t print. Today Microsoft Word wouldn’t open. 
 
Where is a seventh grader when you need one?
 
I actually get the most bang for the buck from my To-Do list. Once the items are checked off, it’s siesta time. I have time to spare.
 
Yes, it seems the adage is true. Time is money.
 
How are you “spending” yours?
 

Clutter Is Us


The Problem

I’ve had the same mission for at least a year. I’m trying to de-clutter. I’m not talking about a room. I’m talking about my house.
 
I totally believe physical clutter becomes mental clutter. It’s like a sneaky morphing process that silently takes place as your clutter grows. 
 
At first you don’t notice. Maybe you’re a little more stressed, but by the time you’ve reached the diagnosable “Generalized Anxiety” stage, you may (or may not) have figured out the connection.
 
My entire body is like a lightning rod for clutter. The more clutter, the more teeth grinding and muscle tension arises. It’s like the 2 x 4 that finally gets my attention…definitely a “Surrender Dorothy” moment.
 
Vacuuming has a way of disguising the clutter. My serotonin level is higher on the days I vacuum. It doesn’t last long, however, because my athletic shoes leave noticeable tread marks in their wake.
 
The Kittens

Then there’s the bathroom…oh, not my favorite room to clean. One reason…my kittens consider it their spa. My bathtub is their meditation space. I’m just lucky cats don’t like water. My shower is safe. 
 
 By the way, is there a Feline Mensa Society? I know dogs have Dog Parks, but cats need Mensa Meetings. If you don’t believe me, google the articles on how to pill a cat. When I’m feeling down, I read those articles. If those don’t make me laugh, nothing will.
 
But Don’t Call Me A Hoarder

I’m not a hoarder. A friend recently described me as a minimalist. Although a lot of my stuff is hidden inside drawers and closets, I still claim and cherish that moniker.
 
If I ever want to move…let’s not even go there. I’d have to hire two moving companies…one for my necessities and furniture, and the other for my “stuff”.
 
Stuff, meaning clutter, seems to stick to me like Velcro. Regardless of how many times I clear it, it reproduces like kudzu.
 
Can you relate?

Bad Hair Day?

Your Crowning Glory

Today’s topic is hair. If you live in Florida, the term “good hair day” is an oxymoron.

Actually, good hair days do exist, but since the brain gives more weight to bad hair days, it only feels like they don’t.

Women take their hair very seriously, and I’m no exception. Today, after my morning exercise, I got a quick glance at my hair as I walked past the mirror… the word “electrocution” comes to mind.

Hair is said to be a woman’s “crowning glory.” 

That’s a lot of pressure. 

For some women, “crowning glory” hits the mark, but for many women it’s the slim divide between what separates a good day from a bad day.

My Hair’s History

The truth is…I love my hair. I’m just happy to have hair. Even as an infant I was follicley challenged. My mother had to stick a bow on top of my head to convince the public I was female. 

Then, as a child, there was the “Tonette” experience, where my once straight locks were twisted into tight curls making me resemble the then over- 80’s crowd. 

I had more personal control over my hair as a teen, but it meant undergoing what felt like acupuncture of the head. Those curlers were like miniature needles you were supposed to get a good night’s sleep on. You had to be a little bit masochistic to put yourself through that torture. Every woman I know praised the introduction of the foam rubber curlers… so pink…so feminine.

When I say I love my hair, one of the things I cherish most is the color…gray. I waited a long time for this. For years, I colored my hair. When I told my dad I was going back to my natural color, he replied, in his deadpan fashion, “What color is that?” 

All Is Not Lost

I’ve figured out a way to profit from the bad hair day curse. In “Fried Green Tomatoes” I noticed one of the characters, Sipsey I believe, covered the mirrors when Ruth Jamison died. That was a custom back then.

I believe this custom should be extended to women on bad hair days.

 Maybe I’ll start marketing “ Bad Hair Day Covers” for your mirrors…probably more lucrative than playing the lottery.

Isn’t that what’s called “making lemonade out of lemons”?

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Annoyances

I have to add one more annoyance to my list of stress triggers…credit cards and the identity monitoring services. When I get alerts, instead of feeling grateful for the heads up, it sends me into a frenzy.

This means I have to sign onto my computer, and recall two important facts, my User ID and my password. Given that I have hundreds of these, this is no easy task.

 Yes, I know I can use one of those services, or apps, where you helplessly surrender all your passwords. Doesn’t that sound like trusting that every password floating around in the cloud is secure? Where is the cloud, anyway?

I think it’s located in a building somewhere inside, of course, a computer. That doesn’t sound too secure to me. It means I’m basically letting strangers handle my most private information.

 Didn’t your mother tell you not to talk to strangers?

 As it turns out, because I haven’t used my credit card at a certain store in a few years, they cancelled my card.

The nerve of them.

Really?

Didn’t they practically beg me to sign up for their card in the first place? Isn’t it in my best interest to buy big ticket items on the credit card that gives me cash back?

 Why was I so generous? Was the cashier that convincing? Somehow, I must have felt that opening that account was somehow helping her pay off her cards…another example of the saying, “No good deed goes unpunished.”  

Not the First Time

It’s happened to me so many times, I’m almost afraid to do a good deed. I’ll continue, though, because I was a Girl Scout and went to Catholic school. But I’ll admit, the thought, “this is going to come back to bite me,” does cross my mind.

Case in point: The other day I let another car merge in front of me. Then, I watched as that same car sailed through the yellow light while I was stopped cold at the red.

 I had to laugh. I could almost hear a little voice, probably mine, saying, “I told you so. No good deed goes unpunished.”

Bottom line, I believe in paying it forward, and I’ll continue to be a good- dooby.

 But, like many time -tested adages, there’s a reason for this one.