Time Constraints

The Deputy's sister, Zoe, calls at the museum, they're ready to cut through from the addition into the main house. Her cousin, Bear, is doing most of the work on the addition but tells her to call Bridwell (he always calls me by my last name) to do the arched doorways for the two openings. I agree to come over after work and discuss what, where, how. Get to see the twins, tiny but perfect, a lovely pair of boys, not quite eating size, but keepers. Bear demands I drink beer while we talk, and he is a beer-drinking fool. The window guy shows up because there is a problem with the windows, a manufacturing problem (again, that issue of new stuff being bad) and we all talk about that, he promises replacement sashes, and then the guy who is going to tape and finish the dry-wall, which is cool, because I want to build the arches in such a way as to make him happy shows up and we talk about corner bead. On the way home, several beers later, I think about time. By anyone else's standards I should a lot of free time, and I need the money, to get a roof over my back porch, so I agree to the job. They also want D and I to trim the inside, and Bear wants me to help with the tongue and groove pine ceilings. We have the Wrack Show to do and I work full time at the museum. There are 168 hours in a week, I run the math: work, commute, shop, 40 hours, sleep 49 hours, write 21 hours, read 21 hours, eat 7 hours, stare off into space, 7 hours. 155 hours. I could give them one day a week, like I said I need the money, and still be ok, which is what I need to and will do. But if this wasn't B's daughter, Zoe, who I love like my own, I wouldn't. It's easy to say cut back on the reading, maybe skip a few nights writing, but I can't, I'll have to anyway, when we're installing the show, and those would be really good pages. I've become so unused to compromising my time. We installed the Wood Turning show today and it is stunning, as we expected; when it was lit, it fairly pops. D and Sara are so good, working together on the lighting, they read each other's minds. I'd slipped out, to get some things at the hardware store, and when I got back they were nearly done, I hated to leave, I love this stage so well, but I am the keeper of the punch-list and tomorrow is a huge day, many things must be done, and the floors need attention. The janitor's calling. I remember this from when I first came to the museum, when you light three-dimensional art, the floor comes into play, you see it. When stuff is on the walls you don't see the floors, hanging a painting show there can be dust-bunnies in the corner and you don't notice them, but when you light objects on pedestals the space is different, the floor becomes what the wall usually is, the flat surface you notice. Attention to detail. Carma is right there, when she says she can help with the cooking, during the Wrack installation, exactly where we'll need help. I think I'm transparent, after all. My concerns.