I washed the dishes. No, really, y’all. I washed the dishes.

I’m trying to think when I started washing the dishes. Every day, I mean. Not like when as a child did washing the dishes become one of my chores.*

It might be one year ago.

I could scroll back through texts with friends. I probably still wouldn’t have an exact date, but I could at least get within a month. But scrolling back through texts and posts is a mug’s game. How is it that no messenger or social media has a really basic keyword search?

Let’s say it was one year ago, more or less. I made a deliberate effort to wash all of my dirty dishes every day. I didn’t allow myself any excuses. And I continued making that effort. No excuses. Until, ta da!, I actually developed a good habit. Just like those motivational memes and positivity books say.

Are you rolling your eyes? I feel like you’re rolling your eyes.

Anyway. One year(ish) in and I washed my dishes before going to bed. I’m still proud of myself every day, every time I wash the dishes. Because every day there is a moment when my brain says, “I don’t wanna. Just leave it tonight.”

A year (moreorless) in and I’m still fighting myself. Still arguing and negotiating and even tricking myself into doing the d#mned dishes.

Yeah, I know you’re rolling your eyes. I can hear it. And you’re right. This is silly thing to be so proud of. And it’s just absolutely ridiculous to make a whole blog post about it.

I kind of fell off the wagon, posting wise. I disappeared for weeks and the months at a time. This post is really me flinging the doors open and saying, “I’m back, b%tches.” Developing and continuing to force myself into a good habit and my mother dying are my two big items of news from while I was away.

Now I’m going to slather another glob of lotion on my very dry hands and call it a night.

*When my a glass shattered while my mom was washing it and she had several stitches in her hand which couldn’t get wet.