Stream of consciousness incoming.
I can’t work out if I’m turning into a hermit, whether I’m antisocial or I just prefer my own company, but I only left the house once over the weekend. Himself works weekends – the joys of working in retail – and on the weekends I don’t have The Son for company, it’s just me. This isn’t necessarily a good thing, I’m not actually good company most of the time.
The highlight of the weekend was disappointing the cat by taking porridge out of the microwave. Seriously, from the expression on her furry face, you’d think she was hoping for a roast dinner. That she could then proceed to steal.
I was moderately productive to be fair; got housework nailed, did a veritable mountain of washing and ironing. What is it with ironing? I wonder why is it that I go ‘eh. I’ll wait until there’s more to do than this handful of… OH MY GOD IT’S BECOME INSURMOUNTABLE MY LIFE IS OVER ETC., ETC.!’
Invariably I actually enjoy doing the ironing. I set up in front of the TV and pick a flick to watch. Having just dived into Netflix, yesterday’s session was accompanied by ‘Cool World’, a film I both enjoy enormously and which I haven’t seen for ages. Its running time coincided nicely with the size of the pile. Of course, now there’s two more loads waiting to be ironed. The cycle of washing never ends.
I’m not a fan of pristine houses. They unnerve me. My mum had a friend who didn’t have anything out of place, which y’know, is fine if that’s your bag, or if you’re selling your house… but the one thing that made me feel really uncomfortable was the lack of books. No books, no magazines, no papers… no reading material at all. It was bizarre. I prefer houses to have that ‘lived in’ look. Given that both myself and the Husband are hoarders and our house is full of disaster-levels of complete rubbish, I don’t have a lot of choice. We live in a two bedroom house, but have enough junk to fill it and most of the attic. Sometimes I think ‘RIGHT! Time for a clear-out’. But thinking is where it stops. It’s a curse, I tell you. A curse.
I’m the first to throw my hands up in the air and admit that I am rubbish at keeping a tidy house. I resent the whole tidying/cleaning/polishing/vacuuming thing. I have hardwood floors downstairs which makes it all a little easier, but every direction I turn, I fall over sprues of GW figures that are waiting to be built. Or I triumphantly close the cupboard door after vacuuming and the cats have shed another cat-load of fur in the middle of the floor. The phrase ‘hiding to nothing’ springs to mind.
I resent it because I have to work all week and don’t much feel like housework when I come home. I also kind of don’t care, because we never have guests or visitors anyway. The bizarre nature of living in a part of the world where you don’t really know that many people. All my friends are in the Midlands/down south area. I’m only still in the north east because I won’t leave until the Son finishes school.
The worst thing of course, is that I know if I expended the effort and took a day to do it all properly, I could end up with a pristine house. But I won’t. So there. If I didn’t work full time, or if I worked from home, I might be more interested in my environment. But it’s just a place to sleep, really.
There. That’s my Monday rebellion. A staunch grumpy refusal to conform and have a show-house style dwelling. But at least I admit it.
How was your weekend?