Cleaning and the Inevitable Depression That Follows

Cleaning is a pointless endeavor. This sentence has been going through my mind all day as I have been attempting to deep clean my house. Actually, my exact thoughts were more like, ‘Cleaning is stupid, that mop is stupid, this carpet is stupid, those crumbs are stupid,’ etc. Close enough.

Why should we be obsessed about cleanliness when it is such a fleeting thing? After sanitizing/de-crumbing my kitchen counters, they looked like you could prepare a grand chef’s meal on them. Until I made lunch. My once shining counters turned into an ant’s paradise. And don’t even get me started on the floors! I carried my dog through the kitchen to keep his dirty paws off my newly-mopped floor. Carried him. A nearly-grown Labrador. Yeah.

But for that brief moment, it was all done. Every floor vacuumed, every speck of dirt swept, those ancient take-out boxes in the back of the fridge finally banished to the trash…hell, even the microwave got scrubbed and the oven was set to “clean.” For that moment, I had conquered the filth of living. And it felt good.

Now I’m going to go to bed and try not to think about all the dirt and fur and food and trash that will return. I also think I will become a zen master. I’ve certainly learned the point of pointlessness today.

“Just a Normal Monday Morning” or “Origin Story of Beekiller the Mighty”

My Day So Far:

Wake up. 2am-ish. Husband was rolling around, something about shoulder pain. Make coo-ing reassuring sounds. Tell him next time he should skip arm day. Try to stay awake in a dream-like state. Fall dead asleep.

Wake up. This time the sun is up. Fifteen minutes before my alarm. Get up, bathroom time, go straight to the computer like a boss. Jot down rough drafts for three new articles. Bemoan about the fact that I didn’t write yesterday and broke my chain. Write entire article about it.

Toddler-girl wakes up. Needs to go potty. Bribe with a cookie to get her to go on the pot. Feel like an awful parent. Let the dog out. Yell at him for trying to poop right off the patio when he has the whole freakin’ yard to go in. Duck as a hummingbird swoops over me to get to the feeder. Get toddler-girl some waffles.

8am. Get husband up for work. Pack lunch, car keys, kiss at the door. Feed dog. He drools before he eats. I make fun of him, our normal relationship. He takes it like a man, despite the fact that he’s wearing an extremely girly turquoise collar. It’s a good thing he’s colorblind, or whatever dogs see. Determine I’m not a dogologist.

Back to writing. Work on some more articles. Get bored, get iPod, stalk kitchen for food. Off brand Flake cereal is on the menu. Delicious. Read other blogs as I eat. Praise and curse my comparative skill level.

Hear a loud buzzing sound. Look over to see Dog at the window, looking for something. Find a bee in the window. Throw Dog to the backyward, herd Toddler-girl into living room. Panic. Look for a weapon. Find flyswatter. Question whether a flyswatter is a high enough level weapon against a bee. More panic. More buzzing. Bee thinks it can fly through glass. I wish I could open windows using telekinesis. Try and fail. Even more panic. Toddler-girl reassures me, “Buzzy Bee won’t sting.” Long for the innocence of youth. Throw flyswatter down and grab a can of bug spray. Ten more minutes of panic. Finally, the perfect moment. Spray the sucker until he dies. Delight in the fact that humans have created such a thing. Watch Buzzy Bee’s death throes. Question my moral existence. Put a paper towel over the corpse for husband when he gets home. Google whether bees can sting after they’re dead.

Back to writing. Decided previous written article is crap. Delete and write this. Look at my to-do list for the day. Add “Become a bee killer” to list and cross it off. Feel accomplished. Random thought of how bee got into the house in the first place. Panic.

Tuesday, You’re Alright by Me

Tuesday is my favorite day of the week. I remember consciously making that decision sometime in my early teens, when having “favorites” defined who you were. I dunno, the Nineties were weird. Regardless, I always felt bad for Tuesday. It was too early in the work week for anyone to be excited about it, and it seemed to inherit some of Monday’s blahs. But, at the time, I was all about liking things against the norm, so Tuesday it was. I was also starting to develop my love of music, so the songs “Tuesday Morning” and “Tuesday Afternoon” had a lot to do with it. Maybe if I listened to other songs with days of the week in the titles I would think differently? All I can think of is Rebecca Black’s “Friday.” *shudder*

In honor of poor, neglected Tuesday, I wanted to officially tell everyone that I”m challenging myself to blog every day this month. My blog is just over a month old and I’ve already started slipping on how often I post, so I’m coming at it full force. I’m still unsure of what I want to say on this , so I’m just going to throw more words at it until something happens. That’s how writers do it, right? Or hide under a blanket in the corner with a full pot of coffee, hoping that my novel will become sentient and write itself. Is there a computer virus for that?

Encouraging Thunder Award

In other news, some of my recent blogging motivation has to do with being nominated for an award. I received the Encouraging Thunder Award from fellow new blogger Caroline over at carolinepeckham.com. I really enjoy her blog and am slightly jealous of how organized her blog is, lol. Give her a look and a like, you won’t be disappointed.

So that’s the news of the day! Expect more to follow! Anybody else got any big plans for the lovely month of June? Any writers out there wanting June to be over so Camp Nano will start sooner? Or does anybody have any songs suggestions that feature days of the week? I’m all ears. 🙂

Free-Writing on a Monday Night

I don’t like free-writing. I don’t like listening to my brain hiccup and stutter on ideas. Nor do I like my unfettered thoughts set loose on a page. It seems disastrous, like letting a lion loose on the streets. I feel like every thought just flies out of my head just so extremely fast that I couldn’t possibly catch or make sense of them. I’m a plotter, damn it. I need a list, an outline, a set of guidelines in which to write anything worth putting down on paper. Pantsers, I envy you.

But here I am, free-writing away because my plotting has failed me today. I haven’t a thing to write, so I will blabber on about nothing until it becomes something. An infallible idea!

I do feel bad about last week. I underestimated the amount of mental work I needed to do to prepare for upcoming life event. And so I didn’t write much at all. Sometimes it seems like the stars have to align before I’m in the mood to write. And thus, the reason for this blog. To try and break the habit of being in the elusive “writing mood.”  So, here’s to free-writing and all its torturous benefits.