Getting Things Done Takes Some Effort
I got out of bed yesterday morning at 4 am, came downstairs, made myself a cup of coffee—morning coffee is an important ritual for me—then sat down at my computer and went to work. Here are all the things I did before the husband came down for breakfast at 6 am:
Finished the show notes for the podcast, making sure that all the links to items mentioned in the podcast were included.
Added the intro and outro music to this week’s podcast, exported it as an .mp3 file, then uploaded it to Buzzsprout, where I host my episodes. Wrote the episode summary.
Finished the episode page on the website (audio file, show notes, RSS feed, and social media links).
Set up a Zoom meeting link for our homestead foundation fundraising committee meeting that was scheduled for last evening.
Updated the agenda for the meeting and emailed it to the members along with the Zoom link.
Emailed three potential podcast guests about scheduling interview times.
Emailed the duty roster and notes for this weekend’s pie social to all the volunteers.
Reviewed my notes for a Zoom meeting that was scheduled for 10 am yesterday morning.
Made a list for my afternoon Costco run.
Wrote a blog post.
I note all of this not to brag—well, maybe a little—but to help explain my impatience with people who say they don’t have enough time. I could have spent those two hours doom scrolling but I didn’t. I spent about 15 minutes checking social media and moved on.
I said to the husband over breakfast that I was double-booked on Thursday night because everyone wants Janet to be in charge of their projects and events. (I fixed the double-booking issue.) Everyone also believes that they are entitled to unlimited amounts of Janet’s time and energy. I have had to make a concerted effort this week to hold the line on boundaries and remind people that I am not the full-time staff person for their beloved projects. This is also why I hate being micromanaged. No one else on earth can do a better job of managing my time than I can.
More and more, I see a tendency for people to find some organized person and latch onto them, hoping that the organized person will solve all of life’s daily problems. I can’t be that person. There is not enough of me to go around. Twice now, in the past month, I’ve been looped into situations that aren’t anywhere near my wheelhouse. The husband says that people do that hoping that I will just provide the solution.
Yes, I get a lot done. Other people could get a lot done, too. It takes organization and discipline. Those skills can be learned. Maybe it’s because I almost died (twice). I don’t have a lot of patience for people who can’t seem to value the time they’ve been given.
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About six months ago, I broke the tension stud on my beloved Necchi industrial sewing machine. (We shall see if Sunnie’s theory is correct that the word “stud” got my post removed from Facebook last time.) I have missed that machine. It fills the niche between my domestic machine and the Juki 1541. I took the broken stud to a machine shop here in town but the guy there didn’t think he could reproduce it. (Or he didn’t want to try, which is fair.) I contacted a machine shop in Spokane and sent pictures of the broken stud, and the machinist there said he thought he could make me a new one.
I stopped on my way to Seattle last month to visit with him and drop off the part. He sent me a text last night letting me know that the new part is ready:
I’m sending off a check this morning and he is going to ship the part to me.
While I was waiting to start my Zoom fundraising committee meeting last night, the husband put on this video for us to watch (my mother will appreciate this):
This is the workshop of a gentleman who died recently. His widow contacted an estate auction company to come in and dispose of all his machining tools. The amount of stuff he collected over the years is mind blowing. I said to the husband that I wonder if he was collecting all of this stuff just to keep it from ending up as scrap. That’s how I got a garage full of sewing machines. 🧐