Thursday, March 22, 2012
Something is wrong.
I think it's me.
I'm feeling extra-irritable, and tired, and put-upon.
I don't know why. Probably this reverse-teenager phase I'm going through. You know.
My house, though, is not whispering about my fragile mental and emotional state to the world. No, no, no. It is SHOUTING it.
I'm supposed to be in the middle of spring cleaning my entry-ways. Other than empty out the coat/cleaning closet, I haven't done anything. I've been a complete sloth since Sunday.
I've been completely stuck. I "shouldn't" do anything until I've prepped the closet for painting. I can't "clean up" with the contents of the closet thrown up all over everywhere, can I? But, I "should" be doing my daily cleaning and tidying. I "should" not be doing this all or nothing "Spring Cleaning" thing. I have slipped back into my all or nothing thinking. I have let "Spring Cleaning" (which I'm not even doing) become my excuse not to clean at all. To tidy up, to have to tidy up at all, is to admit to the world that I am, once again, a housekeeping failure.
OK: even I can see that's twisted. Sort of.
But,these have been my thoughts. Well, close enough to.
Today, I couldn't stand it any longer--my thoughts or the mess. I can't really do a whole heck of a lot about my thoughts: but I do know how to tackle the mess.
I started with my bedroom, right after my nap.
the dresser area:
The hall outside the bedroom also got cleaned up.
This is the basket of stuff to be redistributed to other rooms (watch for it, it pops up again):
It took me forty-five minutes or so including dusting and swiffering the floor.
I don't know what got into me. As soon as I hit the main floor, I started cleaning up the hallway,
the office/dining room:
and the kitchen simultaneously.
(do you see it?)
It's a style of cleaning I picked up while waitressing. Pick up something, carry it somewhere else, pick something up there, take it where it belongs, pick up something out of place in that location....round and round it goes. You could sum it up: never take a step with empty hands. It can work well.
But, of course, I'm supposed to do this kind of picking up and putting away every day. I have it on my daily list. The list I made up in October and stuck to for 31 days (almost) straight. My 31 day project was supposed to train me to do my chores. But it didn't stick. I'm still not doing them consistently, obviously. How long will it take until they become engrained? How long before I can stop reminding myself to do them?
Maybe I will always have to print the list and consult it and tick off the boxes.
Maybe. And I will have to figure out how to do my chores and other things at the same time, too. Gah. I don't chew gum and walk at the same time.
My daughter came home from school and told me about her day as I did the pre-prandial dishes and kitchen wipe down, too.
I'm still feeling tired, but only somewhat irritable and put-upon. But at least, now, I am not full of self-recriminations. I folded two baskets of laundry and I did my dishes after supper, too. That's progress, right?
(Yeah, this really is an after. Remember I mentioned that the coat/cleaning closet was empty? You can see the door to it just in behind there.)
Linking to the inestimable Jules at Pancakes and French Fries for the weekly William Morris post. This wasn't supposed to be my William Morris post for this week--but you knew that.