Thursday, January 17, 2013
I assume this post should be entitled, "Housekeeping," but I am not sure this is a topic I can write much about.
There's not much housecleaning that goes on at Chez Terre. With my current schedule and feeling crappy or exhausted most of the time, housecleaning is usually relegated to the weekends, where I cram 7 days of living in a day and a half. It's a lackluster effort to be sure, but it is better than nothing.
If I used the Martha Stewart measurement to assess my domestic duties, I would be lucky to get a C-. Fortunately, I grade myself on a steep curve. In my head, I envision the family dynamic as measured against a sepia-toned 1950s sit-com, except in this version, I am the dude in the suit. I'm the one who shoves off each day to work while the spouse stays home. Just like Tim doesn't wear pearls or greet me at the door with slippers and a cigar, I don't often make it home in time for dinner - unless dinner is served at 9PM or later. And I do way more housework than Ward, and nowhere near as much as June. I do more housework than Carol Brady however, simply because Alice doesn't live here. Ever.
When I close my eyes and picture my perfect household, it's not perfect. It is clean, no tumbleweeds of dog hair. And it smells good. Like bread baking, or soup simmering, and clean wind sun-kissed from the clothesline.
So what would it take for the housecleaning to be all it can be? Well, me to have a normal schedule for starters. And then for me to manage what time I do have in such a way to dedicate more time more than once every 7 days. For example, tonight I have slept one hour and then woken up in pain and can't sleep for the pain. If I could clean through the insomnia, perhaps. Or if I could sleep and then feel better so I have energy for cleaning as well as working and interacting with humans.... At this late hour, it all feels like fantasy.