I know I run the risk that it is pathetic and potentially boring to post about the overwhelming mess that is my house. Maybe even sadder is the fact that this domestic havoc is in the forefront of my brain and I cannot see anything else. I feel like a domestic nincompoop because of my inadequacies in taming the papers that have mushroomed on every available surface and the grit that is pebbled all over my floors. Everywhere I look I see visual chaos - stacks of books, clothes that need to be folded and put away, drawers that need to be emptied out and organized and pictures that need to be artfully hung.I fear that I am one pile away from being a guest star on Hoarders.
I may be slightly exaggerating - It really isn’t that bad. There aren’t vermin making habitrails out of piles of O magazine. I am not clutching to cracked Christmas ornaments and baby clothes crying that someday my daughters will want that shit-stained onesie for her own child.The party of summer is over, the mêlée of the girls successive birthdays in August and September is complete (except for Katie’s thank you notes – Arrrgh!) and the groove of school is upon us. My house is a mess. A time-consuming, fixable mess that I resent having to clean.
I'll get to it later.