On Effort

Do you catch yourself doing the most to do the absolute least? My special recipe for crazy involves putting capital 'E' Effort into problems with very simple solutions. I'm on a spiritual quest for the perfect dry shampoo that makes my hair look clean and shiny and not at all like I burn the shit out of it every day to make it curly, but not like it curls naturally, and straight, but not straight straight. I could wash my hair. I've carefully curated at least three pairs of quirky, but cute blue light blocking glasses to wear so I don't get headaches. I could stop watching the tv, phone and computer all at the same time for 91 hours a day. I like to take long soaks in the tub and spiral out worrying about whether my kids will think I was a good mother or too distant or too critical or too doting or...or...or. I have clear visions of their therapists' offices and the autobiographies they'll write. It's my very own Mommie Dearest/Psycho mashup. I could let the water out and go watch a Youtube video with them about where to get the best french fries. I take measurable time to carefully fold all of my underwear and socks, ninety percent of which are black. Then, I blindly root through them while I'm half awake stirring up a tornado of cotton blend and satin. I could skip a step and just throw it all in there to begin with. I wouldn't really call this lazy. My lazy looks like letting something go a second time through the dishwasher as if a new level will be unlocked that can get day old scrambled eggs off better than the first run. Never say I don't believe in miracles. No, this lives somewhere between type A personality and undiagnosed fill in the blank.