It’s the little things in life that get in the way, don’t you find? We plan our days, we set our goals, we get home from work all afire with the happy glow of knowing that our writing life awaits us. And, kapow! Our best laid plans are rent asunder by a plague of tiny details which, left unattended, wreak havoc on our orderly lives. The dinner needs cooking, the recycling needs dealing with, the dog needs walking even though he’s already widdled on the floor in two places, the auntie needs cheering up, the housework that didn’t get done on the weekend needs doing. Oh, who am I kidding. The housework will wait another week. It’s what housework does best.
But you get where I’m going with this. It’s those pesky little details of life being life-y that always trip me up. I don’t have solutions for all those life-y details, but I’ve given the matter a fair bit of thought, and I can think of three simple fixes that could make an immeasurable difference in simplifying my existence.
- I’m not a lush by any definition, unless of course your definition of a lush includes the quaffing of one glass of red wine a night, in which case I think you need a dictionary. Those bottles do pile up, though, don’t they? Especially if a person is carless and doesn’t feel like lugging bottles hither and yon in her already bulging backpack, and elects to ignore the situation for weeks on end. But there’s a simple fix for this, isn’t there? I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking that it would be extraordinarily convenient to have three taps over the kitchen sink instead of the customary two: one for cold water, one for hot water, and one for a snappy little merlot. Or possibly a cabernet sauvignon. I’m not fussy.
- For those of us who would prefer to explore our culinary talents on weekends, it would be quite delightful if frozen dinners didn’t taste as if the manufacturer were trying to mask the fact that the main ingredient is actually corrugated cardboard by adding a buttload of garlic and salt and hoping the public’s tastebuds have been destroyed by the consumption of copious amounts of merlot. I consume only judicious amounts of merlot (see above), hence my taste buds are not sufficiently atrophied to be taken in by the garlic-salt ruse. And, seriously, I would probably eat frozen dinners six days out of seven for the sheer convenience factor alone, were it not for my aversion to cardboard as a food product.
- Since it seems highly unlikely that frozen dinners will ever resemble actual food, I’d be very grateful if Jamie Oliver could please come and prepare my dinners of an evening. Not Gordon Ramsay, because his yelling, swearing, self-righteous eye-rolling would put me off my grub and make me want to hide under my bed. Not Emeril, because I’d have to slap him every time he hollered “Bam!” Not Rachel Ray, because her relentless perkiness would exhaust me beyond endurance. Nope, it has to be Jamie. So, you know, if you happen to count him among your circle of acquaintances, would you please let him know that I’d be most grateful if he’d wrap up whatever he’s doing and become my personal chef. I can clear out a room in the basement for him, and clear a shelf in the bathroom cabinet for his toiletries, and since he’ll be wanting to shop for fresh herbs and produce daily, he can even take over the responsibility of walking the dog, who is old and blind and flatulent, but still most charming.
There. Three simple solutions to a couple of life’s little problems. But enough about me. What quick fixes would it take to simplify your life and help you get back on track with your writing or other goals?