I can't stop thinking about Martha Stewart's busy life.

At the risk of sounding like a senior reporter for "Entertainment Tonight" or a celebrity stalker, I wonder what Martha's doing today, this morning, this very minute.

The problem started last Saturday afternoon after I worked in the yard for a couple of hours and then came indoors to drink a cold beer and soak in a steaming tub. As I settled in, I glanced around the bathroom for something to read but found only my wife's water-wrinkled copy of Martha Stewart Living magazine.

I decided to see what was new with her because I have something of a personal history with Martha.

A couple of decades ago, while researching one of the first big magazine pieces anyone had done on the Martha Stewart phenomenon, I spent four days hanging out with Martha at her Turkey Hill home in Connect-icut and accompanying her to various places in "Marthaworld," as one of her former disgruntled employees called it, including to suburban Chicago to introduce her best-selling Wedding books at an outdoor fete that resembled a rock star's wedding.

At the time, the mainstream press was generally hauling Martha over the coals, accusing her of everything from plagiarizing old cookbooks to peddling terminal shallowness, pretty much dismissing her as just another blonde style maven and flash in the saut pan.

To compound matters for Martha, days before I arrived at her home, her husband had moved out to seek a divorce and her daughter was reportedly an emotional wreck in a Manhattan hospital. For all intents and purposes, Martha's perfectly ordered life should have been in shambles.

But you wouldn't have known it by the way she took me in tow and showed me what a good and productive life looks like. In more ways than one, not a hair was out of place.

"I may not know what men want," the so-called Domestic Diva told me with surprising candor, as she squired me off to look at the old Colonial mansion she was redoing for her new commercial sponsor, Kmart. "But I absolutely believe I know what women really want."

"So what do women really want?" I dutifully asked.

"To begin with, a beautiful home is far more important than sex to most women," she explained without a jot of irony, cocking a well-coifed eyebrow at me. "And so is a sense of personal order. A well-organized life is the key to happiness. That's just as true for men, by the way, as women. Keeping a detailed personal calendar is essential to getting things accomplished. Do you keep one?"

"Well, no," I admitted. "But I do like sex. I think that's what most men really want."

"Gardening will be the sex of the '90's," Martha declared. "You should write that down -- see if I'm right!"

So I did. Over the next few days, in the air and on the ground, I wrote down a lot of what Martha Stewart did and said. I found her to be a tough, funny, tireless business woman, about as ambitious as Genghis Khan -- one energetic cookie in a hot pink Gucci suit.

In other words, I liked her. But she flat wore me out.

Scarce wonder she eventually went to the Big House for a spot of insider trading, paid her debt to society, and came back stronger than ever. Bernie Madoff should be half as fortunate.

Differing Priorities

Back to last Saturday afternoon. There I sat, soaking my sore parts in the tub, when I happened to crack open my wife's Martha Stewart Living and see my old friend's personal "Calendar for April," laying out her daily life in exquisite detail for five million readers to enjoy and feel intimidated by.

Seeing Martha's daily life laid out in black and white, though, made me realize how little I've progressed since our busy travels in the '80s. What a complete failure I've been in the personal daily calendar department.

On April Fool's Day, for example, she noted: "'Ask Martha' on Sirius XM Radio, 4 p.m. Play pranks today."

My calendar, sadly, has zip written down for this day. I think my car broke down and the bank phoned to let me know I was overdrawn. Oh, if it were only someone's silly prank.

On April 3, Martha ordered "artichokes and asparagus from Misterspear.com for Easter Sunday. Remove burlap from boxwood hedges."

I believe that was the Friday I remembered to respond to half a dozen important personal e-mails. Now I just have 13,567 to go, dating back to the Clinton years.

On April 6, Martha attended the "Skating with the Stars Gala" at a rink in Harlem and cleaned her chicken coops. A clean coop is next to godliness, Martha assured me way back when.

That day, regrettably, because I forgot to write it down, I failed to show up at an important lunch date with a dear friend I've stood up twice before. She e-mailed me that she turned me in to an organization called Disorganized Nincompoops Anonymous.

Tax Time

On tax day, Martha filed her income tax, presumably taking the full lost income deduction for time spent behind bars. She also dusted light fixtures and wiped bulbs with a microfiber cloth and cleaned her chandeliers with a natural-fiber duster.

As usual, I filed for my annual income-tax extension because I was too disorganized to get my deductions together on time. The rest of my calendar that day was remarkably clear. So I took a nap, dreaming I was invited onto Martha's TV show to discuss my recent life intervention by organized members of DNA.

On April 17, Martha thoughtfully reminded herself to "turn on outdoor faucets and hook up her hoses." She also put up supports in her peonies.

That day, regrettably, I foolishly managed to forget that it was the birthday of both my mothers-in-law, one former, one present.

For what it's worth, I am the only known married guy in Western civilization who has two mothers-in-law who share a birthday. Though neither is currently acknowledging my existence, next year I plan to get them both deluxe matching microfiber chandelier dusters.

Last Sunday, the 19th, the gracious one did yoga and went horseback riding with someone named Betsy. Martha believes Sundays should be relaxed affairs.

This being the day after I worked in the yard and had tub time with Martha's personal calendar, I hobbled into church 10 minutes late and sat in a back pew trying to recall if gardening actually became the sex of the '90s.

The next day, Martha set out her cabbage seedlings and scheduled spring maintenance on her cars and farm vehicles.

I got up, went to work, came home. I think I watched an episode of "Bones," though I can't be sure.

Got to Get Organized

On Earth Day, Wednesday, she appeared on "The Today Show" and attended the gala opening of the Tribeca Film Festival. On Arbor Day, Friday, Martha shopped for trees at the Mariani Gardens in Armonk.

Truthfully, I can't remember exactly what I did those days. But I'm reasonably sure I did something else besides purchase a new toothbrush. Martha would say dental health is a good thing!

Yesterday morning, Martha began her busy weekend with her usual yoga session. Then she planted an herb garden at the New York Botanical Garden.

I gave serious consideration to finishing up my own spring garden planting but decided not to rush things because of all the pollen in the air. I let the dogs outside and had a bowl of Cheerios instead.

Though there's absolutely no written evidence to prove it, frankly I've had an exhausting week just trying to keep up with Martha's busy daily life.

According to her calendar, I see that she will be up in High Point today debuting her "Greenwich Street" line of furniture at the national furniture market.

I'm half tempted to mosey up and say hello, just for old times' sake. After all, we're both survivors. We've come so far and accomplished so much.

Well, at least Martha has. I'm still planning someday to get my daily life organized, hoping a nice Sunday afternoon nap might actually be the sex of the 2000s.

Jim Dodson, The Pilot's Sunday essayist, can be reached by e-mail at jasdodson@thepilot.com.