Honestly, I got away with it before, ‘I’m just too busy, too much on my plate, haven’t been home much. And it all seemed very plausible, relateable, understandable, even. But now, I’m at home all day, all Goddamn day!
Don’t get me wrong, I adore a clean house, a sparkling floor, a well organized kitchen. I sigh over photos in Homes and Garden, I’m lost in admiration of elegantly gleaming bathrooms.
I just hate to do it.
It’s so boring, so repetitive, so…, well, boring.
I can do it. I’ve survived this long in society. I’ve thrown dinner parties, weekend soirees and Hell of Hell, children’s birthday parties, all with great success and acclaim. Also, all with last minute hysteria and heart attack inducing cleaning. Yes, of course I know it would be easier to do it a bit at a time every day but I don’t have time, do I?
Until now.
Even this typing is an excuse. I’m better off complaining about it to you all rather than doing it! I know I should be washing the floor. How long has lockdown been now? I don’t want to think about it.
I can sit and listen to the birds for an hour, easy. I can plan an opening paragraph to a book I may never write while staring into space for another hour and there you are, it’s time for coffee. I just have to wash a cup first.
With any luck, by the time I find the site to send this to and work through the vagaries of submitting, I think I will have avoided the floor wash for today. But tomorrow looms.
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