Now Is The Time

For what?

Fucked if I know.

I read it on a fortune cookie Sunday night.

It could mean now is the time to get rid of my clutter. In my house and in my mind. One would make Hubby happy, and the other would make both of us happy.

It could mean just give up already, WTF, more attempts at success/health/fun/fitness that resulted in epic failures, so FFS, just toss in the ol' towel already and stop the broken record from spinning like it does.

It could mean the time is right for another glass of wine. But probably not. My poor girlfriends who attended the Eve & Gwen Stefani concert with me could tell you that. Until I clean out that brain clutter, wine might just make me emotionally barf everywhere... and let's just say I'm a VERY ugly crier/emotional barfer.

To put down the wheat-filled fortune cookie?

It could mean it's time to let a family member go. And I'd be okay with that. I know they have already moved along, so perhaps it's time for me to accept it and set the boundaries for my own mental health. Learning at 36 that someone so close to you is the textbook definition of a narcissist is pretty tricky. Kind of completes that HUGE missing link in therapy for the last 20 years, but, hey, WHO'S COUNTING!?!

It could mean I should write a blog post again. But I doubt it. I feel like that fortune cookie probably doesn't even KNOW something like Blogger exists.

Maybe I will at least try to tackle the first point. While writing out the last point.
Now, to play the lottery with the numbers on the back or not....


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Goddammit. All the things.

You have no idea how many times I have mentally prepared myself to sit down at my dusty-assed laptop to write a blog post.

About things. So many things. All the things. ALL THINGS. But then, in my head, I can't justify spending time doing something so purely for myself with no tangible benefit without first accomplishing one of my many failed tasks around the house. So I start by tidying up, or loading and starting the dishwasher...

(which is a masterful skill if you ask me because I manage to fit EVERYFUCKINGPOSSIBLE dishwasher-safe dirty dish in there, if it's the last thing I do. And when I'm feeling particularly risque, I toss in one or two dangerously NOT dishwasher-safe items. I like to spice it up and play Russian Roulette with deadly melty plastic in the components of the machine. Will it melt? Will I ruin the 17-year old dishwasher and HAVE to get a new one? Will it all work out fine? Oooooh, who knows, I am SO living on the edge right now*. 

Usually this thought process is interrupted by Baby D requesting that I help wipe her bum.

But, as I was saying, I'm WILD, y'all).

So, at least if I have accomplished something, then I feel like it's not so bad to sit down and blog.

#nofilter bwhahahaha

Funny thing though, once I tidy the counter minimally and try to get the dishwasher started, my bird brain sees something shiny and then gets totally derailed. And not in the oh-hey-I'm-on-a-roll-Imma-keep-cleaning type of derailment. It's so much like an old forwarded email I read. I see one thing I really wanted to deal with so I pick that up, and walk to the location where I wanted to file/read/call/clean/complete it, and I remember that I need to do something more time-sensitive, like start laundry then while I know I'll be home long enough for the machine to run.

To the basement I will go, but realize I forgot those two items on the top floor I needed, so go get them, and then this process repeats itself until it's time to get Baby D from Preschool, or she needs me in some other form, and tasks are stopped because, well, crazy preschooler.

I manage to never fully complete ANY task, nor do I get started at the laptop. Nope. I get 893,274 things 10, or 20 or 50% completed. I create more mess in the process. I feel even more like a failure for being so discombobulated**, stressed at the mess, and worse off at the end of the day.

That blog post? I remember it as my drowsiness-inducing allergy medicine kicks in, while I am in bed, at a time later than it should be. And the idea dies for another day.

So far, this post has taken one preschool trip, one laundry round, two preschooler negotiations, an indoor dog shit, a urgent foam fill spill vacuuming, and one pee being painfully held in, just to get here.

Anyway, I'm sure that most people who used to come here once and a while and read have given up on me. And I wouldn't blame them. But I really miss writing. I miss brain-vomiting all over this here Blogger page. I need to write more and want to write more. Even if it is just for the sake of cleaning out a dusty corner in the ol' bird brain.

* I am not a completely reckless person. I still make sure that plastic shit is top rack. I'm not a madwoman. Geesh.
** That word is so much fun.


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