For the last few weeks I have simply been unable to write,
even as I sit here and type I am wondering what in God’s name is going on that
I can’t think long enough about any subject so that I can manage even the slightest
of views. Has my life become so mundane, grey and boring that there is nothing
to write about? But that couldn’t be further from the truth so much is
happening I can barely keep on top of things, there simply isn’t enough of me
to go around all the things I have to do, and that’s saying something. I have
however, come to the conclusion that I need to prioritise what I do with my
time. All too often I am easily led off on a path that really has no benefit in
the long run, now don’t get me wrong many of these paths are with friends and I
couldn’t live without them but sometimes I find myself doing “nothings”.
Sitting endlessly watching the latest posts on Facebook; mindless, mumbling's
about nothing, well nothing of any real interest to all the things I have yet
to do. So it seems I must try to establish some priority areas, the problem is
these “priority” areas aren’t really that much fun, in fact several of them are
mind numbing and several are well to put it mildly “just too boring for words”
like housework!
Housework is my arch nemesis; I can’t stand it, I despise
cleaning the house, it very rarely if ever fills me with a sense of delight, a
sense of achievement or even a modicum of anything other than boredom and
dread. On reflection over the years with my mother on the topic of housework
her advice is a very sensible start with just one room, pick a room, any room
and give it a good clean from corner to corner. I listen to her advice and have
on occasion really taken it to heart and tried to give one room a very comprehensive
“going over” well in my mind. In reality the truth is a little bit more well
let’s just say grey. I start with a
flourish and I pick a room, I walk in, I challenge myself to get to it, I spend
about 15 minutes thinking about where to start and what makes sense. I pick as
many of the big things I can to start and then I just get bored, so bored I can’t
stick the room. So bored I convince myself I need coffee and maybe a biscuit to
keep my energy levels, so I take a break. Now this is where it all starts to go
pear shaped, because as I am on a break and feeling tired, I decide to text or
tweet or go on Facebook or look up something of extreme importance on the net. When
I eventually convince myself to go back to the room, motivation is at an all-time
low, I peer into the room and see the utter chaos, everything that needs to be
sorted is all over the place, there are no homes for this stuff, it’s a mess of
clutter, its calling me, it suffocating me, I can’t breathe, I have to escape…
and so I return to the bliss of something else that is important for me to look
up on the computer, another text to send or a tweet to compose. I convince
myself that these are all highly worthy causes and the “room” needs to wait. I
will never have a tidy house, I’m not sure I even know what that truly looks
like, but I am going to blame the man or should I say priest whose name I was
given. He really put a hex on me where housework is concerned, he told Mammy
that our house was not untidy just lived in, and that people weren’t coming to see
the house they were coming to see us. Our house just like my parents’ house is one built on friendship and an open door, so
if you call here you will always get tea but I may have to move a couple of
boxes of this and that to find you space at the table.
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