I really enjoy blogging. Because of that, I consider it a treat, something to reward myself with when I complete all of my chores..much like TV is and why my DVR list is constantly erasing itself. I realized yesterday that if I wait until my house is clean and every project is finished that I will NEVER EVER blog again. If I commit to getting a post up every other day, or thrice a week, I will be happier than if I am re-cleaning the same fingerprinted window for the second time in a day. What good is having a
spotless minorly spotted house, if I can't post pictures of it and show the world how easy breezy living my life is? ;)
I was actually going to post pictures of me doing the various chores that take me away from blogging, so that my real life could be seen in plain view, but when I saw that in pictures taken over multiple days I was still wearing the same clothes (and no, I did not work out today Jerilynn, thank you for asking) it was just a little too real. As I was on the phone disparaging the groundhog day laundry scenario that takes place here last night to Ben, I told him I don't know where all of the laundry comes from because he doesn't live here and I don't produce much because I had in fact been wearing the same outfit for 48 hours (most of my weekday outfits have this life cycle). I know I scoffed before but maybe I need to just order some
pajama jeans and simplify my life. My 'suspect hygiene' (as Ben calls it) could be a whole 'nother post of it's own...and putting this in writing will lead me to analyze why I don't feel the need to 'get ready' everyday unless Ben is going to be around...even when I am going out in public.*
Just like we all have our things that we choose to spend money on (travel), we do the same with our time. And although clean sheets doth not a clean girl make, and while the majority of the week I am no sartorialist, I invite you to come dine off of my floors**, drink from our commode, peer through a smudgeless window, admire the pristine walls that leave no trace of having been patched and repainted, examine the baseboards, and go ahead and take a look in my oven while you're at it (I just cleaned it yesterday!). But if you do stop by, please call ahead, remove your shoes and don't let your kids touch anything. And don't look in my junk drawers...they look just like everyone elses.
So I am starting off the fall pledging to myself to do more consistent writing, more frequent perusing of friends blogs and a smidge less tidying up. I have to remind myself that the whole house in it's entirely doesn't have to be clean all at once, except on special occasions. If a couple of rooms at a time look good I think that'll have to do.
Luckily, there is not a big chunk of my riveting history missing from the universe. In the absence of blog posts I have been more faithful in recording the personal - content which ranges from the mundane to the spiritual to the distressing - and residing in a black leather Moleskine that is easily scribbled in and toted around (plus I'll always have the ever relied upon back-dating and mass posting), or an even smaller floral notebook that briefs what I have read, or a yellow composition book that records both to-do lists and some of my most heart-felt/vitriolic messages to my husband that he has never read (99 cent therapy). This site is equally important to me and will remain a display of life's pleasures and public musings...and pictures of plants.
*I can trace this problem back to at least college, when my choice of attire for the first day of class was called into question by my dear (and highly fashionable) roommate. What were "shower shoes" to her was my footwear of choice. And when you are going to swim for three hours a day who really wants to do their hair...swimmers, a little help here?
**Only if you come in the next five minutes and only if you enjoy pine needles as a side dish.
