But no sorrier than yesterday’s, which probably shouldn’t even count because it contained no words written by me, except for the title–which, let’s face it, was so generic it could have been written by anyone. So you really have no proof that yesterday’s post was by yours truly at all, except for my word, and also the fact that it’s just like me to justify my laziness with the excuse that it was a holiday, and also just like me to say that even though yesterday’s post contained no words written by me, I am the Giraffe and I did approve that message. So there’s your proof, amigos. No need for cynicism. Not just yet!
On to today’s sorry blog post: As is his wont, my husband set aside this day-he-doesn’t-have-to-go-to-work to do a bunch of “cleaning” projects around the house. It’s his right; he cooked the Thanksgiving dinner, after all. Every last bit of it. I didn’t help him at all, not even the tiniest, sorriest little bit. Not with the cooking, anyway. I cleaned up some. So, yeah, I owed him a day devoted to cleaning out closets and dumping a whole bunch of crap onto our floors, which have to be cleared off again before Wednesday (when the housekeepers come) without re-cluttering the closets. This fortnightly challenge is starting to become endearing, if by “endearing” one can mean that I am only mildly distressed about it. It was a really, really good dinner. And there were pies, and cheesecake. I mean, I really have no power in this relationship. I am too dependent on him for my upkeep.
Anyway, I can’t freak out over the house yet because I am still recuperating from my freak-out over Christmas on Wednesday night. (That would be Thanksgiving Eve.) I went to the Target to pick up some stuff, and I thought I’d window-shop for some Christmas presents for the kids (or actual-shop, if I actually found something worth buying), and I suddenly realized that I have no idea what I wanted to give anyone for Christmas. Especially not my husband, for whom I would probably not be shopping at the Target, but it was the principle of the thing. I had no idea what I was going to buy, and there were only so many shopping days left. If I wanted to avoid going to the mall and crap like that (and I did), I’d have to shop online, and I’d have to decide what to buy really, really soon, so that it would all get here on time, and Christmas was coming. It was coming fast! Thanksgiving was already almost here! And then in addition to getting all nervous, I began to grow angry because, dangit, Thanksgiving wasn’t yet celebrated and Christmas was already stressing the crap out of me! That just isn’t right! It’s not right! It’s too soon to start hating Christmas. Too soon, too soon, too soon. That was all I could think as I started breathing into the paper bag. Toosoontoosoontoosoon.
So. Okay, then. I came home and told my husband I was stressing out about Christmas because it was coming so soon and I wasn’t prepared, and he soothed me in his patented way by saying, “Well, you’d better get on the ball, then.” So that made me feel better. If by “feel better” one can mean that I resolved never to speak to him again about my feelings.
So we cleaned off the top of the filing cabinet today, and there is still some stuff here on my bed that I don’t know what to do with. I don’t even know what it is. My husband said he was taking some stuff down to the Goodwill and he was going to leave the rest of this stuff for me to disposition, and I said, “Can I throw it all away?” and he said I could. But I haven’t. I have thrown away some of it, but there is still some stuff that, for some reason, I cannot throw away. I don’t want it, I’m pretty sure nobody needs it, and yet here it is. This is why I hate deep-cleaning. I need more therapy before I can be any good at it.