Getting a house key made for my daughter has been on my list for two weeks. In Franklin-Covey terms, it's an important task but not incredibly urgent...
I used to think that I'd be happy when I had breasts. Or when I no longer lived "at home." Or when I was out of debt. Or when I lost "the weight."
Why is it that when I leave the house in the morning my chin is smooth as silk and stubble free, but by the time I get to, say, the Sellwood Bridge on my way to a meeting, a lone prickly chin hair makes a midday appearance when no tweezers are in sight?