I’m not an idiot. I’ve noticed that I start out the day pretty well, and somewhere around noon I start slipping. By four o’clock I’m completely useless, either hiding in my book or curled up on the couch crying. So can anyone tell me why I decided today was the day to get Hope’s room rearranged, and we spent all morning hauling every single thing out of her room, so I could shampoo her carpet?
We did vacuum. But I didn’t even get the shampooer out of the closet. My living room is an obstacle course, my stove is (again!) too buried to cook on, and she’s sleeping in my bed, because hers is on the front porch. And I have a couple appointments tomorrow, one of which will be occurring here. Oops.
I should be upset, frustrated, maybe even working frantically at it right now. But all I can manage is a disinterested shrug, and “Well, that was a bright move.”
Who the f**k cares what my house looks like? Not me. I only take on projects to avoid thinking. A friend joked the other day that when I’m done with my house, I should come to his. He might want to reconsider. After Hope’s room, there’s only my bedroom. As it contains only a mattress on the floor, an empty bookcase, and a shelf of plants, he should be sorry he said that by, oh, Tuesday at the latest.