The intent was to hook all day Sunday and rest my knee. An old injury flared up, maybe even worse this time so I’ve been sitting more than standing the last few days. I had high hopes of completing at least half of the Initially Yours Z, or possibly even reaching the finish line but there was a nasty little voice in my head, guilting me into doing things that went against the day off grain. Those piles of dirty dishes, something I try to avoid eye contact with, scream at me for a wash and dry and return to the cupboard where they belong.
I know things are bad right now. I’m back to hiding if the doorbell rings. I’m not a domestic goddess and I can ignore the mess to a point, but it’s breaching the limits I can live with and morbid thoughts are starting to creep in. What if I have a heart attack, would this mess be what I want to be remembered by? Would this sad state of affairs be wagging on the tongues of town after the shocked paramedics blab? Sure I’d be dead and wouldn’t care, but there's a worse scenario, what if I lived? The shame might kill me! I’m a proud one, just a bit on the lazy side. Housework is boring and unstimulating so when fun things call to me I run toward them. It’s so much nicer to do something creative than be in the dishpan up to the elbows in suds and dirty dishes.
All of a sudden I have discomfort in my chest. Probably that voice in my head trying to motivate a reaction. If I have a heart attack, this pig pen mustn't be the legacy I leave behind! So I got out of my comfy hooking chair and limped to the kitchen.
I hobbled around the house gathering the water glasses and plates that always seem to be hauled away and never brought back. Then I notice how grungy the empty flatware tray is and the next thing I find myself scouring that back to a lily whiteness. Then the stove burners are looking sad so I’m elbow greasing those. The collection of colourful tea pots on the open shelves have lost their lustre, steam and grease from cooking float up and skim coat all the surfaces and being a crow I like things to shine so now I’m washing things that I don’t even eat out of, things just there for show. How sick is that?
So now two hours have gone by and the counters are sparkling, a sad contrast to the dull floor lined with dust bunnies and all those little cut bits from my hooking. I’m a messy hooker, I snip and chuck and then they get walked all over the house. Once hubby said, why don’t I place a garbage can handy but that never dawns on me. My dogs are great, they don’t eat wool so it’s perfectly fine to let the ends lay around. But now I’m seeing colours from the alphabet letters two and three back so it’s time to run the vacuum.
You can’t vacuum the floors and rugs and not dust the table tops so now I'm spraying all the horizontal surface with orange oil. For goodness sakes I think, don’t look up!!!!!! But I did and I see all those cobwebs that only the sun streaming through the window will show and now I’m cleaning the beams, sweating like I’m going a few rounds in a ring.
Outside the boats are sailing by and power boats are tossing waves up on the shore. People having fun on their day off. My day has turned into a nightmare of wading through dead skin cells and dust bunnies. I’m really beginning to begrudge my house; it’s stealing my creativity, vacuuming it up along with the spider webs. I’m afraid to go upstairs because the laundry waits. It seems like a conspiracy. If only I drank. Alcohol would put an end to this domestic guilt trip. I wouldn’t give a crap.
I will admit, the downstairs started looking pretty good. If someone dropped by I wouldn’t have to pretend I’m gone. If only it would last....but by next Sunday I’ll be in the same boat, and it won't be the kind on the water.
I see how gross the windows are and I holler, "Stop searching for stuff to clean, it’s endless!" I’ve got to stop looking and start hooking; put blinders on and pull some loops, maybe watch a movie. My leg is throbbing from all the standing. I need to save myself from this crazy housework grind and grime! A house is a needy beggar, there is no end to its demands.
So, this was another day off murdered by household chores. RIP Sunday....if only I had a domestic worker I sure would be happy to be able to say, “the Butler did it!”
Here is my Initially Yours Z.....Z is for Zebra, the stripes are self explanatory.
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