I’m not talking about a week to get away, although it would be a dream if I could tell all my responsibilities to fuck off, hope my taxes took care of themselves, and sip alcohol out of melons and coconuts for a stretch.so I could get in some relaxation and catch up with friends I haven’t seen in months, I feel like I need to designate an entire week to just getting shit done. Not the fun shit, but that kind of shit you have to do in order to keep your home, vehicle, and bank account safe.
Lacrosse season is creeping up and my daughter needs new equipment. I don’t want to get some of the laundry done so my kids can wear matching socks, I want to catch up on it and have it all done. Wouldn’t that be a fucking treat? I should probably use that carpet shampooer I invested in last year since my rugs have holiday hangovers, and if I don’t tend to my hot mess of a Tupperware cupboard soon I’m going to lose it the next time I need to find a container with a matching lid. It’s not going to be pretty. Oh, aren’t you supposed to clean out your dryer-lint-catcher-thing too? I’ll add that to the damn list.These aren’t tasks that take a few moments to wrap up.
I don’t see the week of catching-up-with-shit-I-need-to-do-to-feel-better-about-my-life-but-don’t-want-to-do in my near future. So for today,with the everyday: the feeding of the kids and driving them around, working, showering, and returning the text my sister sent me two days ago. Maybe I’ll get to the dry, brown Christmas wreaths that are still hanging on my outside doors, but probably not. The way I see it, as long as they’re down by April, I’m good.