Living in full “I’ll do it when I feel like it” mode has its advantages, if only psychological.  I get to re-live the Golden Age of Adolescence when I could justify all kinds of sloth. Wearing the back brace offers the perfect out to do nothing. But I know I can do something,  even if it means getting on my knees like some grovelling bottom to clean the toilets and sweep up the cracker crumbs that, by now, are ground into the carpet. The newspapers have caught up with me. There are bags to put them in and take to the recycle place near the fire station.  So the weekend looms on the horizon as that opportunity to tidy up the crib.

I was married to a woman once who was big into cleaning and keeping things tidy. It’s not a bad position to come from. Currently I am married to a hoarder. Hoarders are lovely people. Seriously. There’s nothing wrong with them.  They do, however, have considerable space demands that block certain niceties, like guests visiting the home, or a Christmas tree. I learn to work around the limitations. But I carry the resentment in my heart.  I have never had a fit of full-blown rage about living in this mess; so it continues.  My Dad rarely lost his temper, so I don’t lose mine. There are pluses and minuses to being reserved. Big plus is that you don’t scare the be-Jesus out of children.

This weekend, I will do something. The house will look better and cleaner.  I can do it.  She will help.

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