CHANNELING JUNE CLEAVER

On second thought, it's not really channeling. That implies a willing participation on my part. An invitation for her to live in my brain.

Au contraire, mes amis.

She invaded me. She is possessing me. She is digging up the memories that my lack of, and indifference to, domestic skills caused me great problems in my past life. The bee-yoch whispers in my ear that I better not let that happen again. So, here I am, after years of living alone, being accountable to only myself, and, after vowing never to do it again, worrying about things like planning meals, keeping the laundry done, cleaning (but not very well). After all, M&M works a whole lot more hours each week than I do, so I should those things, right?

See what I do to myself? These expectations are all self-imposed, self-inflicted. He has assured me many times that he doesn't expect those things. In fact, I get a puzzled look and the question "Why would I expect you to take care of me. I know how to take care of myself." He really is blessedly low maintenance, good-natured, and accommodating. So why don't I pay attention? Why do I sit at my desk wondering what I should fix for dinner? Why do I continue to worry about being the "good little woman"?

HA! Not that I'm any better at it now anyway. I'm thinking that, once I clear out some more STUFF, I might be making a periodic investment in Merry Maids. It's for my health. Really. Decreased stress levels mean a longer life. Right?

MAKING ROOM

BS was home recently & his momma rejoiced with song & dance.

One of the tasks he set for himself was to shovel out his room & sort & toss & pack. Well, that's what he SAID he was going to do, and he KINDA succeeded.

A little more than 3 years ago, I posted about cleaning out the house. Didn't work very well.

You see, over the years, more stuff has crept into my house during the night & when I'm at work, because I swear it all wasn't there when I went to bed. When my beloved aunt died, some of her stuff snuck in. Then when my mother downsized her big ol' house for an apartment, it happened again. When BS came home from college, he brought several years worth of independent living with him. When he moved to the big city, he found (what to him were) plausible reasons that he couldn't take it all with him, so here it stayed. Add to that, I have found concrete and tangible examples that inanimate objects are capable of spontaneous generation, occurring in various hidden corners of the house.

I swear.

This could make the science journals. Add to that my almost-complete lack of domestic skills. As a result, my little house was stuffed to the gills with STUFF.

Enter HS & more STUFF. And not even all of his stuff, because most of his stuff is still in a storage unit. I have a storage unit full of stuff too, but I don't want to talk about it.

Right now, HS's stuff resides in the dining room. At least, I think it's a dining room. Can't really tell anymore, not that we ever did much dining in there. We're more the 'eat-on-the-sofa-and-watch-tv' kind of people, but nevertheless, the room is there. And it even has a table. And chairs. And what's a table for but to use as a receptacle for STUFF?

So, I take bags into St. Mary's for our semi-annual yard sale. I wade through piles of paper. I even tossed out a whole lot of my old college materials - handouts, lecture notes, old class notes. That was hard, as I have also posted about how much I wanted to teach again (here, here & here). But, no. Have I even looked at it in the last 2 years? No? Out it goes! Anything valuable is on the computer anyway. HS is demonstrating great patience as I try to turn from a pack rat into a minimalist. Good luck with THAT!

Baby steps, folks. Baby steps.

ANNOUNCEMENT:
The gentleman who was originally known as BB (Beloved Boyfriend), who then changed to HS (House Stud) at the suggestion of one of our twisted classmates, decided that he liked BB better after all, but then I proposed another that he likes best of all. Since he loves the mountains, used to live in them, and wants to again, he is going to be the Mountain Man, or M&M (since he loves chocolate too). So.... ANOTHER NAME CHANGE! Hopefully, this will be the last one.

More clearing out

Yesterday was a good day.

BS & I worked on cleaning out the garage and attic.
We really did get a lot accomplished, and today,
after I met him for lunch and treated him to a family sized burrito at Qdoba
(seriously, one of those could feed 10 starving orphans),
BS continued the fun - after he got another one for his afternoon snack.
He stopped at the store and got some bug bombs to blow up in the attic,
but first he put on his dust mask and vacuumed out the whole thing.

Better him than me.

Hearing him up there brought back chilling memories of the raccoon invasion of yore.

http://www.saynotocrack.com/index.php/2008/07/24/guide-to-summer-chapter-3/

This type of fun activity will continue through the week.

Yay!

But it is a necessary evil to be endured to get the crap out of my house.
Because peace of mind is a big fat goal for my new year.

Not that I want my house to look like this...

http://www.richbunce.com/richbunce_photography_projects/echoes_photography_project.php

Some of my crap is nice crap, and I'll keep it.

ps - as you can see by the date & time of this post, it is now tomorrow,
but I started writing it yesterday,
so the yesterday I mentioned was really Monday.
Yeah, that explains it nicely.

More of the Bucket List

Cleaning out the house.

I am a pack rat. Have a hard time tossing anything out, so as a result, my little house is overflowing, especially now that BS has come back home with all the detritus of 7 years of independent living. This is not good for my peace of mind, my inner harmony, my zen, so today we tackled the attic.

3 piles - 1 for the trash (and we filled up our big bin pretty quickly), 1 for charity, and 1 to keep. My problem is that I will find something that not only have I not seen in years, but I forgot I even had it. Funny thing is, my life has not been burdened by the lack of this 'thing' in it for all these many years, but when I clap eyes on it in the dim attic, suddenly I can't live without it. "Ooooh, look at that little suitcase. That was mine when I was a little girl. Ah, such memories. I can't get rid of that!" You know how it goes.

Here is the attic:

Clutter. And you can't see it, but everything in it is covered with a fine layer of soot. I have an oil-burning furnace in the garage, and the properties of physics being what they are, the warm soot that leaks out of the pipe rises to the ceiling, where it gets sucked into the small spaces around the attic stairs to waft into the vast cavern under the roof and coat all possible surfaces. There is also lingering evidence of previous raccoon habitation, if you know what I mean.

Tomorrow I am calling the guy who got rid of the raccoons to see if he will do a thorough clean-up or knows someone who will. I don't have the desire to be breathing in the foul dust made of dried raccoon poop that I am kicking up rummaging around up there.

Anyone want a really cool old little suitcase? No? Well, I guess I'll have to keep it then. I'll try to make room for it.