I hate cleaning. I especially hate it when hours in it feels like I’ve actually gone backwards. I have the same relationship with tidying up as a 3 year old.
I’ve basically avoided having any form of rational clear out of our room for months. Any time I’ve vaguely contemplated it, we’ve either been too busy or in too much pain. But today, feeling quite perky and with the start of the new school year and the nagging feeling that I want to be organised more prominent than usual, I pulled out everything in my wardrobe and started.
This is basically the physical embodiment of how I feel about everything right now:
The rest of our room wasn’t much better tbh. The wardrobe was stuffed to the gills with a load of crap I don’t actually need or want, I’m just keeping it there to keep it away from the rest of the house (which is immaculate… mainly because other people live there. I’m less fussy about my own space, which whilst Mr Geek shares it, I present to the ladies and gentlemen of the jury exhibit a: bits of model plane & Warhammer figures… ’nuff said).
So I’ve spent the majority of the day holed up in here throwing out what I don’t need/want and putting back just the important stuff. As I was going I kept thinking, I’m never going to be able to wear those shoes…. but they stayed. If I can’t wear heels, I can at least look at them.
If you look reeeeeally hard you can see the hours I spent on that! I added the important bits in there. Like this from Mrs Gypsytree who moved away last week to Ireland. That way I get to see it each morning and am reminded that there’s someone out there who is equally peculiar (if not more so going by her current obsession with some posh floppy haired actor who looked genuinely terrified in the selfie she took with him). She will of course, remain my Sherlock even if she has buggered off to the middle of nowhere.
And this Oatmeal poster that Mr Geek got me for valentines this year. This trumps any card with fascist dictators on. He is pretty much the start and end of my world.
The problem was that moving everything out of the wardrobe sort of eclipsed the bed. And whilst I would normally be totally up for the sweep and collapse style of getting into bed, this would rather negate all the work so far. By this point I was grumpy. Pretty much all major joints were burning and my head was pounding. I did just sit on the washing basket for a bit and contemplate crying Disney style until the forest animals came and did it for me. Apparently, they’re too busy eating each other and pooping to fold my laundry. Selfish bastards.
So after a great deal of sighing and staring at it all, I got off my arse and kept going.
Note: I totally didn’t do this by myself. Mr Geek took pity on me and helped me to clear up & make the bed. In my defence I did clean up the floor on my side of the bed which had been thickly carpeted in yarn…
So what actually left the building after all the effort? Well, 4 bags of rubbish and these two bags on ‘not wearing that again’ which include my 2 comfort cardigans that I’ve had since forever. But out with the old…
My sanity is probably in there too, alongside any joints that were not previously hurting.
A few years back, this wouldn’t even have been Facebook status worthy, let alone a whole blog post. Instead, it’s an unwelcome reminder of which way my mobility is heading. Part of finishing as much as I did was partially being angry that I couldn’t and the pain was slowing me down. The result of that is now laying in a flipping hot bath using my blog app to have a good old moan. That way, I can stick my smile back on and everything can be hunky dory again with lots of ‘never mind!’ and ‘nothing we can do, so hay hoe!’.
Ce la vie! (Did that sound convincing?)