5 minutes before dinner is ready. I could do many things.
I could check the Missouri clearinghouse for teaching jobs, perhaps three or four times, obsessively, even though there are no new postings in my geographic area since yesterday.
I could work on this application for substitute teaching that is bafflingly complicated. How does anyone manage to substitute teach?
I could fill out the application for a replacement social security card.
I could give Fiona a pep talk about continuing school. No, it is not the 19th century. She hates school now. So much has changed. I've told her to make it through to spring break and we will keep talking.
I could get Daisy out of the tub.
I could fold a basket of laundry.
I could have a second glass of wine.
I could organize the girl scout cookie forms so I know who has filled them out and who hasn't in preparation for Go Day on Saturday.
I could reply to the missives about the independent scout group (BPSA).
I could admonish Billy about the negative consequences of not using the toilet.
I could make my bed.
I could hang up all the cordless phones.
I could put the nativity sets away. Ok, not away, but I could sort them by child (they each have a set, all of them Fontanini, the little plastic unbreakable ones that are, in a word, awesome) to get ready to put them away.
I could take the garland off the Christmas tree.
I could gather up the foster cat and put her away for the night so she doesn't eat or drink before her surgery tomorrow (spaying). Actually that would probably take longer than 5 minutes because she can read my mind, like all cats, and is now hiding some place very sneaky.
I could pick up that novel that I started to read, a typically depressing southern fiction novel about horrible things you are glad you didn't survive.
I could gather library books.
I could feed the stray on my porch.
I could go over some Russian vocabulary flash cards. Well, I could, you know. Horosho.
I could figure out how to use the LP/Tape to MP3 converter I got for my birthday and put that tape by Joe and Blake on it so I can share it with the whole dang world like it should be.
I could put sheets on Billy's bed.
I could listen to Daisy recite her spelling words.
I could write to Daisy's teacher and commiserate.
I could set the table.
I could clean off the dining room table so I could set the table. Or so someone else, perhaps Fiona, could set the table since she is looking over my shoulder asking me why on earth someone would make a list, a big old list, like this on a blog.
I could think about the high school down the street that has announced its demise, wondering what it will mean for my neighborhood.
I could play with the Batmobile remote control car.
I could catch up on xkcd.com.
Or I could write this here.