Lowering my standards

You know, up until the last few weeks, there were lots of things I thought I wanted. I thought I wanted world peace, I thought I wanted more money, I thought I wanted my teenagers to stop giving me lip and spontaneously clean something. I wanted Joe to come to understand that there was no way that I am ever going to concede, not the entire time that we are married, that cups do not go that way in the cupboard and I will never stop changing them back. I wanted to know what was wrong with my rose bush that all the leaves fell off, and I really wanted to make some sort of rule about where the cat is allowed to puke and at what times of day.

I wanted to have a day where there was not one thing written on a post-it at the end of it. I wanted a day where everyone I called answered the phone and gave me the answer I was looking for, and a day – you know what? Even though it’s too much too much to ask for… I’d like maybe just one afternoon where each and every person I deal with is totally at the top of their game.

I wanted the grocery store down the street to get my favourite kind of tofu back again, because the one they have now sucks, and I wanted to not have to ever, ever look at another quote for Audio Visual materials. I wanted Portland to be in the same time zone as Toronto so I wouldn’t get jetlagged going back and forth like this. I wanted Sock Summit to be at least two more weeks away so that I really, really would have more time to be even more sure than I am now that the spreadsheet thingie that I made for what rooms get overhead projectors works. I want the kitchen floor to stay clean, for the Wanigan box to stop having so many radishes in it, and maybe ease up on the plums a little too, not that plums aren’t good, it’s just that I’m the only one who eats them and that’s a lot of plums.

I wanted for women to be more respected in business, and I wanted other businesses to stop being impressed that we’re doing a good job at this, even though we have breasts. I wanted databases to be simpler, and while we’re simplifying things, I’d like to do something about teenagers and how long it takes beets to cook and I really want to stop having to fill in those customs forms at the border.

I thought I wanted all those things, and now? Now that we’re this close to the Sock Summit and there really, really, really aren’t enough hours in the day and I feel really frightened all the time about what I might have forgotten to do… now?

Now I just want to be wearing clean pants when I meet Barbara Walker.