Stress, Age or Something Else
The week began stressful here at Our Little House, no doubt.
On Tuesday, after a couple of hours sleep – thanks to Molly having a bad night and Chloe fighting the E-collar (those big cone head collars dogs have to wear to keep them from chewing stitches or pulling out drains) – I made a pot of coffee and headed to The Belle Writer’s Studio.
At noon, I put my computer to sleep, headed home for lunch and while there, popped a roast in the crockpot for dinner.
I could almost taste the tender pork that we could also have the following night in burritos.
When I came dragging home after completing an assignment at about 6:30, all the while believing all I needed to do for a delicious meal was pop some rolls in the oven, Dale said, “You know, the lid wasn’t on the crockpot when I came home.”
That meant the roast had not been cooking on schedule for most of the day.
I’d like to blame the stress and lack of sleep on this “Duh” moment, but the truth is that I’ve been having these types of moments with more frequency.
As I told a friend and Living Large community member on Facebook yesterday, I used to pride myself on multi-tasking through 12-14 hour days and there were times as a journalist I juggled multiple assignments in one day that included crime scenes that took me out in the wee hours of the morning and didn’t have me returning home until after city council meeting coverage late at night.
Now, I’m good if I last 10 hours and sometimes I just feel like a real flake.
Like the day I forgot to actually put coffee in the coffee maker and it took me a couple of seconds to process why my morning java looked so weak. Or the hot morning I put Dale’s can of pop in the freezer so it would be cold for him at lunch, only to hear it explode all over the inside of the freezer a few hours later.
I even had to get one of those pill cases to keep Molly’s medications straight or I would forget if I gave her all of her evening meds.
Add in Dakota’s thyroid pills, her eye drops and medication for allergies; Sade’s antibiotics for the ear infection and her drops and Chloe’s antibiotics and pain meds this week and my head is about to explode!
I was blaming this on age and that magical time called peri-menopause, but my friend who has also downsized and moved to the country thinks it might have a little to do with the slower pace of life we’ve chosen.
The good news is that while I bungled dinner the other night, my work apparently didn’t suffer. I received notes from my editors yesterday about how great of a read they thought the story was that I turned in on Monday.
What do you think, does slowing down the pace of life make it harder when we’re forced to juggle and multi-task again, especially under stressful conditions?