Mind like Swiss Cheese

Okay, so you know how this is going to go. It began with a cliche. :-

I'm sitting here at my computer thinking, now I know there's something else I need to do here. What was it???

At least I did think of my dear neglected blog.

My mind is swimming. It's time to do a mind dump on a piece of paper I'm sure to lose in three days (if I'm that lucky). I need structure and order. Actually what I need is that guy on the commercial--is it for Sprint I believe?--with the horn that minds the woman's minutes for her. HONK! time to move on to laundry. HONK! School papers need grading and filing. HONK! Time to study ASL. HONK! Ha! Ha! Bedtime. You don't get to write again!!! But you have your son's tuition bill coming in....Remember that! HONK

No wonder I have a headache. There's just too much stuffed in there and no time to do it all.

I also was not made to clean a house. I have a black hand. My dh says that every plant he's ever tried to grow has died (houseplant that is--his mother gave him several when he first moved out on his own and they didn't last very long). Well every house I've ever tried to keep neat and arranged and dusted explodes. It honestly does. I don't know how--I never hear the explosion. I just wake up in the morning and groan--it's gone off again.

What no one else seems to understand is it's not me that does it. I have proof. Last November when they were all gone for a blissful 10 days, I cleaned the house on the first couple days and it STAYED THAT WAY!!! Until they came home. Three days later and it's starting to unravel. Three weeks later--bombs everywhere.

I know that FlyLady works. I've done it. In fact, my morning routine stayed intact for years after I had to let go of some of the rest of the program (obviously before the steps became firmly entrenched in my brain cells). But sooner or later I find myself swimming under so much backlog that I know I'll drown. I end up wishing someone would really bomb the house. That way I'd have no excuse for not starting completely over, and trust me--I'd be worse than a border guard about letting things in my house. Especially paper. I'd have a trash can on the front porch underneath the mailbox where everything would go except the stuff that just HAD to come inside. I'd get rid of the awful rug in the living room that makes vacuuming a chore and I'd get rid of the coffeetable and have more floorspace. I'd get rid of table lamps and the 50s style end tables and find storage that hides--doubles as something useful, to contain my library books and other things I like having at my recliner (recent magazines ONLY! )

What on earth am I rambling on and on about? I need to write for real. No--rephrase--this is real. I need to write for money. For the first time in my married life, I really do need to pull in some $$$ other than just saving my husband expenses on the business (as in not having to hire a secretary, an accountant, and a property manager.) My "income" doesn't look very good to the Social Security commission, but if I could count what I save this family a year, well---

There I go, rambling again. Does not bode well for a succinct and relevant article, does it.

Wish me luck. And good crackers to go with my Swiss cheese and whine. :)