There are so many ways to waste a day (You know them all already.)  So many ways to waste a life.

What matters most to you?  How does the way you spend your hours reflect that?

Seasons matter to me, appreciating each, dancing the same rituals year after year, like the trees, the squirrels.  This makes me a part of the world and of time, of now.  Without seasons, I have no urgency to get off the couch.  I know this because I lived in Seattle for a year.

Relaxing matters to me.  I can't think of why, other than I spend a lot of time doing it: watching tv, doing crossword puzzles, reading magazines and hanging out on the internet.

Security matters to me, in the forms of comfortable shelter, restaurant food, money to care for my child and pet.  For this I work about 30 hours a week, sometimes less, rarely more.  Those 30 hours can't be spent helping someone get rich.  I know this because I had a corporate job for a year.   They can't be monotonous, I usually get fired from those jobs.  They have to be spent contributing to some sort of common good, however vaguely, however badly I may mess it up.

My daughter's future matters to me.  Almost all decisions on how to spend my time with her hinges on the future.  I take her to the amusement park because it's important to look back on your childhood and see roller coasters.  Saturday mornings are spent watching her play a sport because she is an extraordinary athlete, and this may keep her out of future trouble or pay for college.  I cuddle and wrestle with her because an adult who was starved for touch often makes poor choices.  I cannot fathom losing a child, and the future that goes with it.

My dog's happiness matters to me.  I spend time walking, petting, playing with him.  Giving him medicine, taking him swimming and for car rides.  I'm at a loss explaining this one. 

Writing matters to me.  I know this because I have 5 different journals (thoughts, days, prayers, love, creative) that I am currently filling.  They'll end up either humiliating me beyond the grave or burned somewhere, so why does writing matter?  

That is the bulk of my days.

Some other things are given less priority, but deserve more.  Friendship and socializing, connecting with the spiritual world, seeking creative inspiration from the theater, galleries, etc.

I must shift my priorities enough to include taking care of my body.  (I say this every year.)   I feel its strength slipping away.

Fall is coming and there is a writing class I am thinking about taking.  It would help me get my manuscript in shape.  I have given up a lot of dreams, but publishing my book is one that will not go away.  I want to be recognized for the story I have to tell.  I'm not looking for money or fame.  All I want is for a publisher to say my story matters.  (why I have given publishers that power and am not interested in self-publishing, I cannot say.)  If and when that dream dies, I will be a different person.

I would also like to get back to hospice work, volunteering for now and eventually shifting my career from "ushering girls into womanhood" to "ushering women into death." 

I might consider dating again.  (I've been saying that for 10 years.)  I have no idea if that will ever become priority enough to act upon.

Domestic chores and my general appearance are given only an occasional glance.  Maybe its time to stop pretending that I care.

I could sit and think, intellectualize what is important to me, what really matters, what is the vision of my life.  But the truth is only revealed in what I do with each passing hour.