Not really. Soooo not really. But my week off is begun. And I started by sleeping in, finishing a mediocre book, shaving my legs, and (just now) deleting several paragraphs.
Because I was describing my hijacked vacation plans and trying to convince you I wasn’t being snarky and I was totally snarky. Fuck that.
So let me explain why me shaving my legs is so important I singled it out for inclusion on the list.
I shave my legs — at least twice a week in cold months (aka slacks weather) and four or five times a week the rest of the year. I started, like most girls my age, in middle school, and I got hooked. Just my legs, tho. I think maybe I shaved my pits back in the spring? Or not?
It’s cool with me if you don’t shave. Or if you shave multiple times a day. Definitely don’t care what exactly you shave or if you make shapes. God, stop making it all about you you you.
So back to me.
It’s July in the south. Definitely not slacks weather. The antithesis of slacks weather. I last shaved on Tuesday. Today is Sunday.
I . . . just couldn’t be bothered, I guess.
I wash my hair usually every third day. On very rare occasions it might be on the fourth day. (I have fucking thick hair. Look, I didn’t judge you on the shaving so just back off.) Again, this week I last washed my hair Tuesday morning.
Many of the physical symptoms, at least the really obvious ones, of my bad days are ebbing away. The obnoxiously over bright sun. The roving stress rash that had me scratching open deep gouges of my torso.
But I’m still too tired, and too disconnected, to do anything other than the most basic. So maybe five minutes random soaping and rinsing in the shower. Brush teeth. Deodorant and clean clothes straight from the basket because no laundry is getting put away. And then several minutes of quiet sitting while I try to get my mental and emotional second wind so I can make it through one more day of work.
So, yes, I’m snarky over three-fourths (actually, 73.2%, I did the math) of my vacation plans falling apart. But I’m also glad. Or at least not upset (except about the couch). Because it’s a lot longer than five days since I last cleaned house. And the depression-clutter-depression cycle is true.
Maybe I don’t need to clean for visitors or furniture delivery. I need to clean for me. And I have Sunday to Sunday. To accomplish what I can, hoping for the best but accepting whatever I do. It is with these little steps that I carefully make my way back from the edge.
And whatever does or does not happen this week, I promise you, my baseboards will still need dusting.
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