I don't know about you, but I can't get ANYTHING done. I seem to blunder my way through days/weeks/months (years?) with a trail of things undone.
Housework is at the top of my "not done" list. I definitely was not cut from the same cloth as Martha Stewart. Oh, I would love a clean, tidy home (and for the most part I wouldn't be ashamed if someone just "dropped in"), but I would like the house to be more like the homes in the decorating books and magazines I read (and reread...and reread).
I love that feeling of accomplishment I get when my kitchen countertop is totally clear (for the entire five minutes it lasts). I love it when I can sit in my "happy hour" seat and see that everything is tidy, the rug vacuumed. Picture perfect.
That doesn't happen a lot. Because...I read. I read newspapers, I read magazines, I read books. I tend to put my reading material down intending to get back to it/them soon. Consequently, at any given evening there might be newspapers, magazines, and several books open on the couch and the coffee table.
There's reading material on every flat surface. Usually it's neatly stacked, but...not always. And I collect stuff. Stuff that collects dust. For years my motto has been, "I dust twice a year--whether it needs it or not." But the truth is I would like it dusted ALL the time. I just don't want to be the one doing the dusting.
Lately, when the housework guilt starts to mount and I don't feel like doing it, I'll tell myself: five things. Just do five things. Supposedly small things mount up.
Okay. Five things in the kitchen. Clear off that catch-all spot in front of the TV (which only seems to get switched on during dinner-making so we can find out what's new in Anna Nicole's death (is that the story that won't quit, or what?), or what (usually unmarried) starlet is sporting a baby bump, or who's on the red carpet wearing what monstrosity of a dress. (Guys have it much easier. Who doesn't look good in a tux? And does any man worry about the size of this ass?)
Five things in the dining room: put away those two platters that are on the sideboard. Pick up the three cat toys and put them away. Yes! Five!
Five things in the living room: Two more cat toys; line up all the remotes (three). Close the armoir doors (to hide the TV--four). Consolidate the tissues in the two opened boxes and toss out the now empty one. Yes! Five!
Everytime I get up from the computer (and I seem to be glued to the damn box), I'm trying to remember to do five things as I walk through the house. Fold laundry. (God, I hate laundry. I'd rather clean the toilet than fold laundry.) Go back to office to work (or, goof off as the case may be.) Head to the kitchen for a cuppa. On the way, one biggie (empty dishwasher) or five small things (empty coffee grounds from hubby's coffeemaker; toss out the junk mail on the counter that hubby sometimes leaves for me to inspect (but I'd just as soon he toss it in the recycle bin as he walks in).
Five. Simple. Things.
Why does it all seem so complicated?