What is wrong with me?
It’s not spring. I’m not getting ready to go into labor. I’m generally happy with my messy piles of books, magazines and clipped out recipes all over the house. So why the heck am I spending this beautiful day cleaning?
Not just “sweep around the furniture and be done with it” cleaning. Hauling everything off the floor to ceiling bookshelf, sorting, dusting, getting rid of, making neat, deleting cobwebs. Bought a new scrubby sponge for the sink. Moving furniture and dusting the backs and cleaning beneath. Buying a new can of Pledge. I can’t remember the last time I exhausted a can of Pledge. I think I used to just throw out the old one every time I moved, and the scary thing is that I’ve been in this house for 15 years.
I tell you, I’m on the verge of ripping down the living room curtains and installing new ones. But that would require a Trip Out, and I’m not dressed for Out. I’m not dressed for cleaning a dusty house, either. I need a pair of gray sweatpants, because the black ones I’m wearing look, from the knees down, like I went ten rounds with a pack of rabid dust bunnies and lost.
But here’s the most telling symptom of my insanity. I forgot to eat lunch! As anyone who knows me can tell you, I don’t forget to eat. In fact, I often remember to eat too often. So when I heard my stomach rumble my first thought was distant thunder. Then I looked at the clock. My, how times flies when you’re getting rid of crap that you can’t understand how you accumulated in the first place.
On top of this total frenzy over the main level of the house, I have threatened/promised (depends on your point of view) to rearrange youngest daughter’s bedroom furniture today.
I don’t think my morning tea was hyper-caffeinated, but maybe I’d better go check. Or maybe I should have another cup. I’ll have to use the travel mug, though, to keep the damn dust bunnies out.