Trust me?
I worked like a dog today. Do dogs really work that hard? I know mine doesn’t! (What is that quote about anyway?) But I did. I didn’t sit down all dang day, stopping only to have intermittent bites of the banana I chose as a quick, convenient (not all that satisfying) lunch. (Well, I could’ve had potato chips, so stop looking at me like that)
Yes…as soon as I got in from a leisurely, hang out till you can’t hang no more breakfast, I worked hard.
Oh. Now I’ve lost your trust. Okay, I did go for breakfast, but I swear, when I got home, I did a week’s worth of work over the next nine hours.
I cleaned bathrooms, vacuumed carpets, washed floors, built a piece of furniture, gutted kid’s rooms, disemboweled a (very constipated) closet, ran eight loads of laundry (amazingly easy to accumulate that amount at my house), sorted paperwork (also stupefyingly effortless to accrue here and, hands down, my most dreaded chore), let pets in and out of what they believe is a never locked, always available revolving door and I, the doorman at the Hilton. (If only this were the Hilton – Hawaii, take me away)
Am I winning you back yet? Trust me. I worked and I worked. It paid off too. Now, I’m only slightly behind for tomorrow as opposed to flailing moat deep like I would’ve been if I’d have, say, gone out for lunch today as well. Tempting, but no.
I watched Love Actually the other (much more appealing) night (the luxury is a distant memory), and I have to admit, I envied (cursed) Colin Firth as he hired a ‘house girl’ to look after his needs. (No, not like that. Well, at least not right away anyway) He sat at his typewriter, gazing out at the calm, Willow-brushed water, writing his latest, greatest novel while she cooked, cleaned and ran his errands. (I may have to stomp my feet for just a minute)
As I type this, I lay propped on several pillows, a heating pad scorching the undercarriage of my torso and a pillow supporting my screaming knees. Ahh, it hurts so good, or should that be bad? I’m delirious.
All right, I’ve had my fun. My rant has come to an end. An end yes, but not a bitter one.
I’m counting my blessings; I own a heating pad, I have a bed to lie on, there is a (brand new cedar) roof over my head that I am grateful for (even though it will take the next ten years to pay for), my children lay sleeping in their beds, I own a laptop, not a typewriter (Take that, Colin), I was able to bang out a post that I never thought possible today and…wait for it…I got to listen to Adele for nine hours straight. Who could ask for anything more?
I did the cleaning thing Sunday. Amazing that it took me all day, but it had to be done and I felt oh so much better except for my aching back and legs! I did think about writing while I dusted and mopped. Glamorous life of the writer never stops.
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I could clean all day, every day and never be done! Glamor is overrated! 😉
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And I know you have the skills to clean like a pro Hazy…you write like a pro too…great work!! 🙂
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Thanks Murphy!
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Gah! Way too much work. You should live over here. Squalor is way easier and breakfast can go all day long!!!!
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It is much easier, but not quite as fulfilling. See what I did there? Heh, heh.
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Ha ha ha! And yes, I know THOSE days which are oddly rewarding at the time as they help the fog to clear but alas, for me, depression sets in next day when I realise a whole day has passed without a word written. But you wrote a blog post so you’re exempt from guilt! Great post!
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Cleaning house is like cleaning mind, but it does lead to wordless wallowing for me. However…both must be done! :0) Thank you for commenting, Jackie. I appreciate it!
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