(no subject)

[redbird]

The problem with tidying, and washing knives and such, is that it doesn't give me a proper feeling of accomplishment. It becomes a huge task because, well, that I threw away a 1992 appointment book is sufficient evidence of how seldom I do this. But when I'm done I don't have a story written, or a meal cooked, or even confidence that it'll stay tidy, because that's not how entropy and housework are.

But I have a cup of tea, I have some clean surfaces, and I think I'm going to get rid of these two random beads that I bought (from the rubber stamp on the bag) somewhere in Brooklyn, at an unknown time and for no clear purpose. The cocoa tin I just finished will be a pen holder, and maybe I can take the plastic card-holder and reassemble my wallet.

Edit (26 Feb.): The cocoa tin didn't work, but I have a pen holder, and my wallet has been reassembled.

Comments

[crazysoph.livejournal.com]

I hate all housework for the pure and simple reason that it represents (in my own mind) absolutely no accomplishment at all.

An epiphany that healed some of my anger about it came when I was on my own, so I knew that every dirty dish generated was mine rather than that of some hypocritical slacker sharing the house (okay, that's an overstatement, more to convey quality of my feeling rather than truth of the real situation. *g*). I had started to clean these dishes, when I picked up a cup from the night before, and remembered with sudden intensity just how much I had enjoyed the hot cocoa which had been in that cup, the night before. Huh, I thought, that's never really occurred to me before, that a happy memory would make the dishes less onorous. But it did. Weirdness but now a structural part of my mental furniture.

Crazy(of course, it's sometimes really hard still to remember the pleasantness of how those dishes got dirty...)Soph