Because I can’t always be Wonder Woman.
Living on the third floor of my apartment building, I make a point to never take more than one trip to get all my grocery bags from point A to point B. It’s almost like a challenge.
But today, I did. I’ve had larger loads of groceries and made it in one trip before. Today, it just seemed to dawn on me: What’s the point of overloading myself?
That’s something I’ve had a problem with for years — I like my metaphorical plate overflowing, and oftentimes, my eyes are bigger than my stomach.
Coming off an awesomely lazy holiday weekend, I felt completely overwhelmed today. I rarely am absolutely slovenly lazy, where I accomplish nothing of value — As you can see, I didn’t even blog. (Although I was helping my boyfriend unpack into the new house he just moved in to. I suppose that’s a little productive.) This weekend, my ratio of showers to Long Island Iced Teas strongly tilted in favor of the Long Islands, between helping unpack and floating down a river in an inner tube. And that was okay.
But now, it’s back to reality, and I nearly had a spazz attack when I realized how much crap I need to catch up on. Until I realized that I don’t have to be turbo crazy multitasker. I can take two trips to get my groceries up three flights of stairs in an un-air conditioned apartment building with no elevator. And maybe I need to more often.
I know I’m not the only person who crams all their groceries into one excruciating trip, both literally and metaphorically. It’s a small step, but it’s a start.