I went to the post office this morning and with a huge sigh of relief mailed off one of the writing projects I slaved over all week. I can't explain why it seems I'm not satisfied unless I have just a little more than is sensible on my to-do list. I had a stack of five books I was supposed to review and report on and was already working on three other writing projects. What possessed me to start the fourth one?
I guess the main reason was that the person who wanted it done has been waiting since May. I hated to make him wait any longer and it was a comparatively small project. So I dived in and started it on Monday. And once I have started something, I feel driven to complete it. I'm not one to let a lot of things lie around unfinished. This one took me three days of solid typing to complete, which is relatively fast. Fifty-six handwritten pages were reduced to thirty typewritten pages. I'm relieved to have it off my conscience and my desk.
That leaves me with "only" three more projects to complete. I am hoping to wrap up another one this month, which will bring my work load down to a more manageable level. One of those is a sort of on again-off again research project but the other is rather involved and I'm sure will keep me occupied all winter. I'll be happy if I can finish by spring.
I always have a mental list of what I want to do over winter and this year is no exception. I reserve doing photo albums for winter so that will be on the list for the beginning of the year. I want to crochet an afghan and maybe put a quilt in the frame. Of course there is always the regular house and volunteer work I do. And usually other things I hadn't even thought of when I made my to-do list pop up and get worked in somewhere.
I'm glad I can be busy and productive, but sometimes I wonder about my own judgment.