At 9am, I decided that the best therapy for a week of cold medicine and yuckiness would be fresh air and exercise. While I'm not 100% certain I was right, the front yard and flowerbed are all nice and clean, and there are three bags of yard trash awaiting disposal. Perhaps the feeling of accomplishment will carry me through cleaning the back yard, which promises to visually inspire a complete physical and emotional meltdown if I don't do something soon.
Poor Didge. The decision that spurred my realization was one that involved a little fit of impatience combined with a need for a plan. Once I've stopped sneezing from the pollen I kicked up raking leaves and pulling weeds, I'm going to draft a three-day (well, two and a half) plan to whip the bejeezus out of our abode. Monday morning, I want to wake up in greatly improved circumstances.
See, Didge and I have this problem. I decide to do a thing, he decides that we should do it another way, a mess results, and we both give up. So then I run around, clean the kitchen and bathrooms, tidy up the bedroom, and that's it. We have mad vintage stuff to display and insanely cool overall plans, but can't bust any of it out - *yet*. Tuesday's when I'd like to start busting it all out.
Like I said, poor, poor Didge. He's suffering from the same cold I've had, and is still snoozing away, looking as innocent as he's able. (Even asleep, he looks like he's plotting.) What a nice wake-up surprise I have in store for him.
No comments:
Post a Comment