Driven to distraction.

It’s not that I’m hearing voices in my head; really truly, I’m not.
It’s just that I wear “different hats” during the course of the day and my thoughts are forced to hopscotch — and they don’t always keep up.
At any given moment, thoughts coursing through my brain can jump from golf balls to meat balls, to carpet samples to urine samples, deadlines to dead-tired.
When I wake up in the morning, I’m Mom. I make sure the kids who are supposed to be up are up and the ones who get to sleep in are snoring peacefully.
Next I grab the morning newspaper off the front porch. I catch up on the latest news, scan the obituaries and peruse the sports section. I digest it all with a glass of grapefruit juice — I haven’t acquired a taste for coffee yet, although maybe caffeine is what I need.
My routine is boring and inefficient. Every Mom knows that the early morning solitude is prime time for getting things done. I make a quick pass through the house, a reconnaissance mission, a clean sweep. It’ll pass with a push, as my Mother would say.
I run through the day’s to-do list in my head — laundry, groceries, what’s for supper? who has a dentist appointment? does the van need gas? is the pickup in the shop? oh, and don’t forget that meeting tonight!
When I finally head off to work, I slip into another role . . . ah, roles — reporter, editor, typesetter, ad designer, photographer, graphic artist, salesperson, information specialist, proofreader, greeter — oh how I love a weekly newspaper office where every job is up for grabs.
Add “technology whiz” to the list — that means I know a teeny bit more than the other two people in the office. It’s enough to make me the computer crisis manager — and that doesn’t mean I perform well under pressure.
My official job title doesn’t matter — if the work needs to be done, I do it. I take pictures at sporting events, report on meetings, design business cards and once a week attempt to write something witty for this column. There’s enough variety to keep me on my toes and sometimes off kilter. I’m a self-confessed control freak (actually a loved one made that diagnosis) but I’m also a scatter brain, so this job is perfect for me. One minute I’m talking special assessments and the next it’s a birth announcement for the family page.
Just to keep things on an uneven keel, there are the unofficial jobs — building committee member, scholarship fundraiser, historical society booster, community volunteer. That means meetings, events and work sessions. And the willingness to provide a pan of bars on request.
I’m no different than most small town residents. Our limited population means everybody pitches in a variety of ways. We answer when the call goes out. Keeping it all straight, though, can lead to voices in my head.
The voices speak of pledge drives and tee shots, construction starts and deadlines, doctor appointments and back-to-school shopping, computer upgrades and drivers license tests, family reunions and weekend get-aways.
What’s that? The voice says I should stop talking now.