Not me. Oh no. I am single, with one dog, few local friends, and an easy job.
My house? Mess. I mean, it's clean underneath all the laundry. (Laundry and I have a love-hate relationship. I love to wear clothes. I hate to wash/iron/put away clothes.)
My dog? Mess. But I love her anyway.
My creative projects? Mess. I am making progress on the cowl, a quarter-inch or so further on the socks, and the writing...well, the writing and I are taking a little break from each other. (We can't seem to agree on the definition of "finished" as in why-the-hell-isn't-fourteen-drafts-enough-to-create-perfection. Ahem.)
Me? Mess. I love it. I am happier than I've been in a while.
Maybe normal people aren't really happy? Better not to have your life all the way together?
Tonight, after I finish blogging, I am going to do something about the dog (long walk) and the laundry (a load of underwear is absolutely necessary). And then I'm going to curl up on the coach with some hot tea and a book. Forget about everything else.
Post Script:
1. My arm is HEALED! I have no brace at all from now on. All I have to do is stretch myself so that I can regain strength.
2. Concerned about our new president's progress? NPR has an Obama Tracker so you can obsess all you want. You can even get a widget for your desktop. If you're obsessive like that.
2 comments:
The "normal" people you describe don't really exist. They're aliens with the ability to bend time: they cram 72 hours into a 24-hour day, and THAT is how they get everything done. :)
Hooray for the healed arm! Just in time for spring!
I'm right there with you with the messiness. I was very lucky to marry someone equally messy.
Unfortunately, we're planning on having a kid and apparently, the little buggers pick up everything they can get their hands on and stick it in their mouth. So unless I want baby drool on the clean laundry waiting to be put away (or, more likely, worn), or a baby choking in stitch markers every 5 minutes, I'm going to have to shape up.
Thought since you have a dog and I'm petless, I bet I could beat you in the clutter olympics.
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