For Another Day

There are lots of things I put off for another day. The washing is the main one. I have a washing machine, that should take 12kg of washing. That’s many pairs of jeans in one go, a quilt and dog blankets. (not in the same wash load) I won’t be putting the horse blankets in, that would be amusing but not practical. If you have dogs you know how painful it can be to get a hair stuck in the bottom of your foot. Imagine a horse hair that gets tangled in your undies. Not a good idea. With many animals I decided that a big washer would be a good idea, not realising that it would prevent me from washing smaller loads.

The washing goes on to be a problem even after its done. After doing the washing it comes out of the tumble drier or off the line and into a basket, and it waits, and it waits, and it waits…for another day. You see my stairs are steep. If I ever decide to climb Mt Everest, I’m partially trained in steep terrain mountaineering techniques. So, I don’t take any risks and wait for Mark to take up the baskets. Then of course I have to wait for the right time to put the washing away, on another day.

It’s the same with housework. If you ever visit my house, you have to expect there to be washing up still on the drainer, cardis on the settee, books and magazines on the coffee table, boots in the front room. It’s just my way. I don’t have time to do everything. I try, but I sort of get side tracked. I know where the hoover is, right now it’s in the dining room where I left it Friday after hoovering. I know where the hedge trimmer is, by the front door where I left it last month when I broke it trimming the front hedge. I meant to sort it out, honest, or buy a new one, which will mean I’ll have two.

Hedge trimmers or as used in Lincolnshire, chain saws, have always been a, excuse the pun, sore subject. It’s a brother story. Let’s just say that any man that carries three chain saws in the back of his van and has another three at home has a serious fetish. Alans excuse is, he needs one that works, one spare if that one breaks down, and a spare just in case. Then of course there has to be the ones at home, in the same order. Come to think about it, he’s the same with his cars and his bikes. Me I just use things and when they break, buy a new one, which means my house is full of things that are no longer of any use and need getting rid of, but that’s a job for another day. As for Mark he just hoards, and hoards.

I’m on a mission, a mission to dejunk. I’ve read the books, seen the videos and done the self-hypnosis, no seriously, I do, I go back to bed every morning and listen to a self-hypnosis tape. There are ones on fitness, dieting, confidence, climbing Mt Everest, how not to pick your nose in public, need to use that one more often. The point is, the tapes, (God, I’m old, I mean, apps) help me to relax, I have no idea what the bloke is planting in my head, I never stay awake long enough to hear him, but I do know that it’s my time whilst Mark does his bit in the bathroom.

Do I have the right tools, will I end up going out shopping to buy more cleaning clothes, picture hooks, which I know we have plenty of somewhere? Will I decide that I need something for dinner as I remember that I left the freezer open last night and I need to sort everything out. I don’t suppose closing it and trying to pretend it didn’t happen is going to cut it. That’s my next task.

The point is, I’m bored, bored at looking at the four walls, bored of everything, but I just can’t get my mojo into place. I can paint beautiful pictures and write poetry, crochet blankets and jumpers but I just can’t seem to get my act together around the house. I like the saying that a boring woman has a clean house. It makes me feel less boring, but like many women it doesn’t matter what we do we are never satisfied with the cleaning efforts we make. I’d like to be one of those women that have a maid service that comes in and cleans up after me but I don’t think I could put up with someone else putting my knickers away!

For all I would like to think that women with clean houses are boring, some of the most interesting women I have ever met have had immaculate houses. I would love to know what spell they use to conjure up the housework fairies.

So how do they do it? As I have said I’ve read the books, the blogs and the articles and I’m still none the wiser. I know how my mum did it, she slogged away from dawn to dusk and she stopped only to gossip with the neighbour that passed the house. I’m never going to be my mum, but it’s time I met her standards at least half way. So, today, after I’ve cleaned out the freezer, washed down the bathroom, put everything away, been to the gym, don’t forget I’ve got 3 stone to lose in 3 weeks. I was going to start in January but I kept leaving it for another day, I might, just might actually get around to starting the dejunking, or I might just leave it for another day.

It’s not easy, I always managed when I was at work. I had a schedule and slaves. But I divorced my then dishwasher, my hooverupperer grew up and left home and my evening dog walker has man flu, (Get well soon Mark). The point is maybe it’s the boredom that’s stopping me from doing things, am I scared that when it’s all done, I’ll have nothing left to do, have I caught Marks bug, the “If I do it today I won’t have anything to do tomorrow bug.” Or is just that lazyitis has finally got me.

NO, I won’t let the buggers get me down. Today is that Another Day, well it will have to be tomorrow now because I’ve spent this morning writing.

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