Usually, I overschedule myself.
Overscheduled Me is a total bitch. I mean, a BEEEEYOTCH of epic proportions.
Unscheduled me? Muuuuuch more mellow.
The side benefit of hermitting and cocooning because I feel sorry for myself is that my social calendar has slowed immensely. Not that friends aren't inviting me places; they are. Just that I'm being much more choosy. Not that my friends' events don't sound delectable; they do. Just that it's really really hard to beat sitting on my front porch doing a crossword puzzle* with a glass of wine.
This weekend I had a very short list of goals. The big advantage to a really short list of goals? Easy to accomplish.
Clean the front rooms? Check.
Dig up the nasty-ass old-lady rosebushes** and replant something, ANYTHING? Check.
I ROCK. AND I'm not stressed.
*Note: given my family's obsession with crossword puzzles, and now the revelation that my high school math teacher has become a Will Shortz Published New York Times Crossword Author, I have more supplies of books of Sunday crossword puzzles than any one person should have. Spiral bound and otherwise. I have more crossword puzzles than I could do in, literally, a month of Sundays.
**When we bought our house, it had recently passed from Mrs. S, who had inhabited the house for thirty-odd years. She left her mark in three--THREE--different freezers, one of which had a handle that had broken off so it couldn't be opened (leaving the piecrust, steak and fish (!!!) in it until the junkers came to pick it up), two nicotine-soaked rooms (that took one full week of painting to keep the tar from soaking back through the primer and paint) and yard full of prissy prissy roses. I got rid of three bushes and one puffball rose tree.
Next up: the dumbass droopy trees in the front yard. Their asses are... well... grass.