my versions of motherhood and wifery, friendship and sisterhood.
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Friday, September 2, 2011
well, that shower is not going to clean itself.
As per yuge (usual?), I am shirking my plans of attacking this house. It's like that paralysis I mentioned a while back: it's as if the anticipation of the task steps on my chest and won't let me up. Ooh. And then, a foggy, boggy net encapsulates my brain, so thinking even becomes near impossible. And then a huge vat of glue pours itself on my backside, so that when I sit in order to muster some gumption to start or continue my POA (plan of action) or IA (intended agenda), my butt is stuck to the chair. It must be Gorilla Glue. They are always bragging how much stickabilty is has. Today, I'm not in labor, about to squeeze a VW through a tunnel the size of a manicotti, or laboring over a paper about the darkness of scandinavian literature. I have to finish cleaning my house in prep for our aforementioned VIP.
Now I get why people like to keep things organized and tidy. Less angst.