Bleah.

I have no idea why I can work outside on a task past the point where I should stop, eat, rest, or change positions, but the attempt to clean the house or even just straighten up the kitchen, sort the bills and put the picnic basket we used two weeks ago into its proper place makes my arms and legs nearly leaden.  I swear to God I hate housework.  Yes, we have talked about hiring a housekeeper and I swore it would be the first thing I indulged in once we merged incomes.  But we simply do not have enough wiggle room in the budget. 

Today, the Visa bill is due with the four car repairs, cat emergency, trip to the Cape, Charlotte symphony season tickets, two grossly expensive dinners and various home purchasing binges.  We have renewed our vows of no Home Depot, Tar-jay, CostPlus/Worldmarket shopping until August...maybe September.  The  housekeeper simply doesn't appear after taking that vow.  I truly hate it.

I used to be way into housekeeping.  For about two years, I was religiously following Home Comforts with all its cleaning structure and lists.  But that was when I was only cleaning up after one person and two cats in a one bedroom apt and it still took 4 hours to follow all her advice.  Now, I simply feel guilty about how nasty ass our place is.  I know what I could do to make it cuter/cleaner/healthier, and I don't give a shit.  I'm too tired.  People should just come over and be glad the excess cat and dog fur have not matted into a mutant kuppy (dat? Cog? ditten??). 

We're heading to Dave's Company Picnic.  It's Saturday, so of course it's raining.  I'm starting the reduced alcohol stage of baby preparation except for tonight (it IS Saturday) and tomorrow (final pops concert in the park.  Champagne must be consumed.)  I think I'll be opting for near beer afterwards--except for special occasions, like Saturdays.  For some reason, that sounds better.  Not quite so self-denying.  Not really denying at all.  Except denying I have an alcohol obsession.

Bleah. 

2:55:24 PM