Kim Warp, from The New Yorker, 2011 Cartoons Of The YearYou’ve probably been wondering why I haven’t been posting. Then again, maybe not. Anyway, I’ve been busy. I went on vacation last month. If only the work had. You should see the three feet of charts on my desk, all with pending paperwork.

We’re talking forms, forms, forms. Workmans’ Comp, disability, and FMLA. Health insurance “out-patient treatment reports” (More sessions please, please, O Lord and Cubicle Master.) and “prior authorizations” (Pretty please, Ms. High School Grad, may this M.D. prescribe this med?). Clinical summaries for lawyers. And various letters: excusing patients from work; dunning deadbeats; appealing rejected claims. I’ve overdosed on loathsome. Roll me on my side quick, so I don’t choke on my own boredom.

So, yeah, I’ve been busy. Avoiding. Avoiding that stack reaching for the sky. Avoiding raking and bagging 2011’s receipts for the accountant. Avoiding studying for Continuing Medical Education credits. Excellus Blue Cross Blue Shield is threatening to toss me off its precious provider panel if I don’t catch up. They shouldn’t tease. It’s cruel.

Last week, late for work (Yes, more avoiding.), I found the car buried in snow in the driveway — Oh, right. Forgot there was a storm last night. Then the engine wouldn’t turn over. It gasped, it wheezed, it chu-uh-uh-ughed. No go. Dead battery. The upside: I avoided shoveling. The downside: I couldn’t avoid walking to work. I began that journey of a thousand steps a person, ended it a popsicle. I’ve avoided going out since.

Why leave the house? It’s so cozy padding around warm and toasty in flannel pj’s soft from a gazillion washes, puttering, lounging, doing nothing much. Which is all I seem to have energy for. Besides avoiding.

Hubby laughs at me (affectionately), a pro shaking his head at the misguided efforts of the amateur. You should take the ski lift to the top of his chart stack, a.k.a. Big Chart Candy Mountain (where they hung the jerk who invented work), and slalom down. Good family fun! Tickets sold at the check out window.

“Stop trying to clear your desk,” he advises. “Let it go, and it will go away.” Easy for him to say. He’s got the magic. People do for him, willingly. Including our office manager. Periodically, she gets desperate, tunnels through the mile high pile, and does as much of his paperwork as is legal. Bless her heart. There but for the grace of God go I.

Still, Hubby’s got a point. I shudder to imagine our life together if he were like me. We’d have a gracious, place-for-everything, everything-in-its-place home; an office that runs like clockwork; and alphabetized toothpicks. Nightmare. Yes, better take a chill pill. So what if I drop a few? Let the pills fall where they may. If I step on one, I’ll just go to ground that much faster.

It’s winter. The toads have gone to ground, the squirrels have disappeared, and the birds that missed the plane south huddle on snow burdened tree limbs, chirps muffled by the scarves wrapped around their necks and heads.

And my pooch? She sleeps in and gets up yawning, saunters over to the back door, and turns tail at the blast of frigid air with a look over her shoulder that says— Are you crazy? I can wait. Leisurely, she strrre-e-e-ttcchhh-e-sss-s, first downward facing dog, then the reverse. She jumps up on the back of the couch in front of the picture window, crosses her front paws and surveys her snowy domain beyond the glass. Soon, her head drifts down onto her front legs, her eyes droop closed, and she’s gone, breathing gently. Is it sick to envy my dog?

Time to go with Nature’s current, to cuddle up on the couch with the pooch, to read one trashy novel after the other. To cook stews and soups and bake cobblers. To browse blogs, and chortling, contribute a quip with a click of the comment button. As for my own posts (and all that paperwork), why write in haste when I can avoid at leisure?