How on earth did my house get THIS dusty? We haven't used the woodstove since April. But there seems to be a layer of fleh on everything that just keeps regenerating itself. I dust, I walk out of the room, I return... it returns. It's like ... it lives. It is its own organism... creating itself, over and over and over no matter what I do or try.
I think old houses just exist to manufacture dust.
My inlaws are coming to visit and will be here on Thursday so we're trying to fight against the piles of mess that have accumulated since their last visit. In April. I let a lot of things slide... But compared to the last house I think I've done a better job at keeping up with cleaning. The house is bigger, so there are more places to store things. But because the house is bigger, twice the size of the last house as a matter of fact, it is twice the cleaning.
Last Sunday I went through five or six boxes which landed in a room the day we moved in and haven't moved since. Considering we actually have a room in the house that we are NOT using at all (boggles my mind really that we have a room that is just a room filled with junk right now) we've gotten lazy with the "I'll deal with that later" philosophy.
For every ounce of progress I feel I make, a pound of disintegration seems to land around me. I'm tired. I hate cleaning. I hate dust. I hate clutter. I hate dealing with things that are in piles. I move things from one pile to another, and God Forbid I throw something out because ... well... it MIGHT be of importance to someone five months from now.
Doug insisted that our new medical plan cards came in the mail. I didn't see them. He accused me of throwing them out. I told him that I don't throw ANYTHING out until it is just ... a mountain of stuff. And then I filter through it with a glass of wine in one hand and a heavy heart... I throw out only the things that make sense to throw out... grocery store fliers, requests for my blood at another blood drive somewhere. The millions of offers for new credit cards. If it looks somewhat maybe important, that doesn't get thrown out. That gets moved to another pile. For later.
I called the insurance company and they haven't SENT the cards out yet because according to their computer, Doug didn't specify our doctors' names on the form when he signed up so they can't print the cards without the primary care physician. So rather than call us and say "there's info missing, can we have it?" they wait until he and I have a battle royale where I am accused of throwing things away willy nilly.
Felt kind of good to be vindicated, to know that yeah -- I was right. But still. It exhausts me. It eats my soul. I hate it. So I don't clean anything. Because. And then the mountains grow. I am in the Himalayan mountains right now. I'd like to make it the size of the Berkshires by the time my inlaws get here.
I wish I was like my friend Suzanne who cannot sleep if there is a mess around her. Me? I'd rather ignore it. I'd rather go play Tetris and take a nap.
But I can't I have to make progress. I just have to. I feel like my life is slipping away around me. I don't like it.
I make progress in other places. I think that I make progress with stuff I LIKE and WANT to do. We went out this weekend and got the rest of Jess' costume for the play (starts on Thursday, let me know if you want the details). Jess and I had a blast and a half laughing our asses off at the Salvation Army at all the crazy stuff they had there. It was a good time. And we got things done inexpensively and quickly.
I like doing that kind of thing. I'd rather always do that kind of thing. I'd rather take other cast members shopping for their costumes than clean my own house.
As you can probably tell, I'm madly procrastinating now. Should get back to it rather than play with Facebook. And writing here. I just didn't want you chumps thinking I was going to blow you off for yet another week. Gotta keep my peeps in the know. Well... back to it. More later. Meh.