I’m home right now, sitting on the couch in glorious silence, snuggling a sweet little cat who is relishing the calm just like me. I have fifteen more minutes before I have to leave to pick up the three little hooligans who will destroy our idyllic quiet, and I’m going to spend ten of them writing.
I don’t feel like I have much to say today. My head is quiet, for the moment, just like my house.
Looking around my house I remember how uniquely ill-suited I am for the housekeeper role. Homemaker, maybe, because in a past life I liked to cook, and I assume I’ll get there again. But I get so bored with housework, it seems stupid and pointless because it’s never actually done and doesn’t make a difference, really, because of the previous. Also, I’ve historically been very motivated by procrastination and getting things done all at once, it quells the boredom a little. But you can’t do that very well when you’re not the only person in the equation. And when you see everything all at once and it all feels equally important, it’s hard to stay on task. I flit from one thing to the next, almost involuntarily.
My therapist and I were talking about ways to try to make this role that I fill work WITH me, rather than trying to make myself into this other person I think would be better suited for the job, or at least better at it than me.
So, with that in mind, I’m going to do laundry this afternoon. Back to back to back loads, as much as I can, and then I’m not going to do it again til next Monday. And I’m gonna watch my shows while I fold, and the kids will watch their shows, and try on the clothes I desperately try to keep folded, and it will be a nice enough day.