silk purse

At 8am, as I walked back into my bedroom so I could dress, I thought: I have two hours to get something written in. Maybe my small-group position paper.

At 8:30am, as I fished two symphony tickets out of an envelope, fixed a cup of coffee, and wiped the kitchen counters down (!), I thought: These counters need serious help. But the Sheetrock re-texturing comes first. That’s been hanging fire for a while. Right. Today’s the day I take a look at Thumbtack (a services broker), get a quote on redoing the walls…

At 8:35am, I sipped my coffee and wrote my day’s portion.


I have made this webbed mind of mine work for me in many venues and in many ways. After more than a handful of years as a systems administrator, I both had systems of task-capture and my webbed understanding of priority and urgency. Using them together, I generally kept driving toward the most strategic activities in support of the business. It’s a tricky balancing act in that job, but for the most part I got “I don’t feel like doing that, I feel like doing this,” to operate in the business’ favor. (And mine-!)

In other spheres, I’ve moved as if that web were the direct work of the Holy Spirit, God’s voice whispering to me, “Do that right now; don’t worry about the other.” This is a suspect assumption—heck, even in the moment I suspect it, despite following it anyway simply since it’s my inclination. For the most part, the past five years have not had enough external time pressure for anyone to call me on it—self-serving or not, outcomes have trended more toward blessings than foul-ups.

And then there’s today, my last day before the semester, with two large summer projects still hanging fire… neither of which have anything to do with getting the bedroom wing walls updated. As I write, it’s mid-afternoon and a handful of time-pressed errands await me, none of which (again) have anything to do with either the major projects or re-texturing walls. Though I’m feeling a bit peaky… a nap would be nice….


One of these days, I may actually transform the sow’s ear of my moody attention into something helpful. In the meantime, I likely should get those symphony tickets exchanged.

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