Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!
May. 13th, 2008 07:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kjpepperI vacuumed the rug in my room yesterday. It's a chore I often procrastinate like hell from doing and between the dust and the many visits from cats and the errant crumbs of many an early morning breakfast, the rug loses its wine red brilliance and takes on an ashy patina that somehow glares accusingly at me until, in either fits of guilt or fits of extreme stimulant consumption or in the service of procrastinating from something entirely else that wants my unwilling attention, I slog downstairs and drag the heavy bagless upright vac up from the first floor. My rug is lovely now. Perhaps, with a twice monthly reminder on Remember The Milk, I'll manage to do this a bit more.
Really it's like anything I do that I claim to not like doing. I kick and scream to avoid getting it started, I leave the dishes in the sink an extra night just because I don't want to deal with them, and yet when I finally run out of excuses or need to burn off the jitters, I find myself taking satisfaction in the work. Not the general chore itself, but paying attention to the details - the edges of carpets when vacuuming, the pulling out of the brillo pads and scrubbing the baking pans until they sparkle and my hands are coated with blue soapgoo. Polishing silverware even, not that we really have any that requires doing so. That sort of thing.
I was thinking about it as I restored my rug to non-dusty sproingyness, but it was a thought that really occurred to me as I finished up Sunday night's dishes early Monday morning. It could be that all there is is this, the constant work of kicking entropy out of one's home over and over again (which is pretty difficult when you happen to be a bit of a chaos goddess yourself), and doing other things to make said place livable for all of those who dwell within. I've known people who have done this and done it well, and I know people that do this now who are reading this. Like anything I occasionally put my mind to, I could potentially do this as well, barring that one attention span issue that I seriously need to look into getting fixed again *sigh* Damned ADD. But I digress. I have absolutely no clue what I actually want to be doing right the hell now, and I'm painfully aware that much of the journey between one midnight and the next is me merely getting through the time until I figure out a) what I want to do and b) how the hell I'm going to accomplish said thing when I decide.
Which isn't to say that I don't love a lot of the mile markers of my days, mostly the ones having to do with my family, things like the slam of the door and the occasionally muttered swearing of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sydneycat as she departs from the house in the morning and heads for work. I probably could willfully set down the boundaries of my life around where I currently am and around the people I'm currently with and learn to be quite content there. But there's still quite a large chunk of me that's still thinking she's Belle and singing brainlessly about wanting more than "this provincial life." (Though when you really think about it, how does "More" entail marrying the furry in the castle up the road? Considering all that operatic bellowing in the beginning of the movie, that wasn't that much of a step up.) I just don't know what that more is, or whether I just need a nice gentle tap from the clue by four to realize that all I need and want can be pretty much found no further than my own backyard. Or maybe someone else's backyard? *headdesk* Argh.
I'm turning 30 in October. I had better have had some of this shit figured out by then.
Really it's like anything I do that I claim to not like doing. I kick and scream to avoid getting it started, I leave the dishes in the sink an extra night just because I don't want to deal with them, and yet when I finally run out of excuses or need to burn off the jitters, I find myself taking satisfaction in the work. Not the general chore itself, but paying attention to the details - the edges of carpets when vacuuming, the pulling out of the brillo pads and scrubbing the baking pans until they sparkle and my hands are coated with blue soapgoo. Polishing silverware even, not that we really have any that requires doing so. That sort of thing.
I was thinking about it as I restored my rug to non-dusty sproingyness, but it was a thought that really occurred to me as I finished up Sunday night's dishes early Monday morning. It could be that all there is is this, the constant work of kicking entropy out of one's home over and over again (which is pretty difficult when you happen to be a bit of a chaos goddess yourself), and doing other things to make said place livable for all of those who dwell within. I've known people who have done this and done it well, and I know people that do this now who are reading this. Like anything I occasionally put my mind to, I could potentially do this as well, barring that one attention span issue that I seriously need to look into getting fixed again *sigh* Damned ADD. But I digress. I have absolutely no clue what I actually want to be doing right the hell now, and I'm painfully aware that much of the journey between one midnight and the next is me merely getting through the time until I figure out a) what I want to do and b) how the hell I'm going to accomplish said thing when I decide.
Which isn't to say that I don't love a lot of the mile markers of my days, mostly the ones having to do with my family, things like the slam of the door and the occasionally muttered swearing of
sydneycat as she departs from the house in the morning and heads for work. I probably could willfully set down the boundaries of my life around where I currently am and around the people I'm currently with and learn to be quite content there. But there's still quite a large chunk of me that's still thinking she's Belle and singing brainlessly about wanting more than "this provincial life." (Though when you really think about it, how does "More" entail marrying the furry in the castle up the road? Considering all that operatic bellowing in the beginning of the movie, that wasn't that much of a step up.) I just don't know what that more is, or whether I just need a nice gentle tap from the clue by four to realize that all I need and want can be pretty much found no further than my own backyard. Or maybe someone else's backyard? *headdesk* Argh.I'm turning 30 in October. I had better have had some of this shit figured out by then.
