You know the expression “If you want something done, ask a busy person”? Truer words have never been uttered. I’m what is commonly known as “not busy,” and what I’ve discovered in my years of not working (outside the home!) is that not having a job/time dedicated to work can make other things oddly and perhaps inappropriately overwhelming.  It also allows me inordinate amounts of time to hyper-focus on semi to mostly irrelevant matters. Let me explain.

Small decisions become very, very important.

An example: After toasting myself a bagel* at a friend’s house recently, I decided we were in absolute and dire need of a new toaster oven. Why? Because where said bagel would have taken an unexaggerated 15 minutes to toast in my toaster, my friend’s got the job done in two minutes flat. Those two minutes felt life changing and my toaster crusade was ignited.

My husband who does not give a lot of thought to household appliances (other than making sure we have the latest over-sized television) thought I made a good point about the years we’ve lost waiting for bread to toast in our abode and was on board with the purchase. Was even encouraging of it.

I proceeded to research the shit out of toaster ovens in manner of prepping for thesis.  I poured through Consumer Reports, cnet, businessinsider, Amazon and any other site that might have an opinion/ratings about this important topic. I learned more about the ins and outs of toaster ovens than I’d learned about anything since my intense statistics class in grad school circa 1996.   Deep into my search (with five toaster ovens in my shopping cart), husband pointed out that maybe I should check dimensions of these bad boys before purchasing as we are in Manhattan apartment and not mansion in New Canaan. Deleted five toaster ovens. Started again with increased determination.  I then narrowed it down to three. Asked husband to weigh in. He said, “It’s a toaster oven, I don’t care, whatever is fine.” Which is all very well and good but I had a decision to make and it was IMPORTANT and I was IMMOBILIZED because, like, what if I picked the wrong one? After asking him yet again to “just take a quick look” an hour or so later, he said, “Just pick one! What’s the problem here?” The problem here is that I’m picking a damn toaster, a cause to which I have dedicated an embarrassing amount of time and become evangelical about. Couldn’t he see that this was a critical decision? (He could not.)**

What else? Errands take on new life force

No one likes to do errands, particularly those that involve a trip to Herald Square and/or the DMV. But I have the time to do these types of chores, so you’d think I’d maybe look at it at breaking up my day/giving me something to do. I do not look at it this way.

Instead, any given chore outside of (and okay, including) my daily grind seems like…how do I put this…an imposition. The enemy, if you will. Like, I have gym classes to go to, guys. Can’t my husband who works full time and travels at least a week out out of every month deal with returning our license plates (for example)? Yeah, yeah, the intellectual/semi-normal part of me knows that’s not right. I get it, I have the time. But the jobless, not busy part of me feels like I have been wronged and perhaps interrupted. From what, I don’t know. But something.***

There is time to hyper-focus on things like your neighbors’ (and family’s!) quirks and the habits of their dogs

While our apartment is generally pretty quiet, our dining room looks out into an interior alleyway, and lemme tell you something: Noise echoes/reverberates off those walls. Because of these acoustics, I’m well aware that there’s a guy who loudly and honkingly blows his nose at 6:26 am every day. There’s a grown man who blasts Taylor Swift and sings along off-key after work/on some weekends.  People do in fact yell at their kids (so it’s not just me, thank god).

Unfortunately, I am also intimately familiar with all of the dogs on my side of the building. Like, I can recognize their barks. To be fair, I really only passionately dislike one dog (please know that I have a dog and like most animals that are not avian. Or rodent. Or reptilian. Simians good). The dog I loathe deeply barks from 4-5:30 pm M-F (he takes the weekends off). Because of this, even one bark from him puts me on immediate edge. To the point where I may have crafted anonymous notes that say things like “PLEASE HAVE SOME CONSIDERATION AND SHUT YOUR DOG UP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD”  (Note: I said crafted. Did not actually leave this note. Wanted to. Didn’t. Still might).

I often wonder if I would be less focused on nose-blowers and smallish mammals if I had a j-o-b. Or maybe I would notice these quirks regardless since I suffer from the very real curse/affliction called Mispophonia (https://www.nytimes.com/2017/02/03/health/sounds-people-hate.html?_r=0). Still. It makes a gal wonder about her own mental health (and un-busyness) when she has a vague death wish for a random dog.

But not to worry –  there’s another channel for my energy. I also have plenty of time to zealously focus on my husband/children’s foibles. For example, no one in my family  but me fully shuts closet doors. The hell? I could go on but will spare you/them although they are all well aware of the attention I give to things like breathing too loudly/a whistle in the nostril region (see: aforementioned illness).

Back to the “if you want something done, ask a busy person” idea. The funny thing about being busy (I’ve learned from my working friends) is that when you are, you sort of assume everyone else is busy too. As in, they say things like “I’m sure you’re busy too, just in a different way” and mean it.  I’m not saying I’m never busy, but….don’t give credit where credit is not due.  And if you want something, don’t ask me. I’m not busy.

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*Don’t judge. While I’m of the “who the hell toasts bagels? ” camp (you know who you are), this one needed toasting.

**If you think husband did not have opinion once we got the toaster, think again.

***At times I’ve even felt that the pedicure I scheduled (for myself) three blocks away is a burden, albeit a less rude one.  This is real, people.