What a Difference a Week Makes

Or not. Two weeks aren’t much of an improvement, either.

Two weeks ago, I took a picture of our disastrous upstairs. My hope at the time was that I would show you what it looked like in the morning, then dazzle you with my resolve and accomplishments at the end of the day.

What I think I knew subconsciously was that the same thing would happen that always happens: Nothing.

Sure, it was Sunday at 3 p.m. before I even got started, but I felt motivated. I had everything on the bed. I had picked up all my clothes and either put them away or put them in the hamper. I had started to organize all my papers into neat, manageable piles I had planned to file and/or put where they belonged. I had prepared myself to dust and vacuum.

An hour into it, I was going strong. But I needed to go downstairs to get some dusting spray. That’s when the wheels fell off the bus.

My husband had my personal nemesis – the television – on. No matter. I was prepared to walk right past it, into the kitchen, to get what I came for and get back to business.

Then Rick said, “Hey, you never did see the X-Files movie, did you?”

Oddly enough, I hadn’t, even though that was one of my favorite shows back in the day – one of the few shows I actually made it a point to watch on a weekly basis.

Suffice it to say, that was all she wrote. The movie was just starting, it was 4 o’clock, and I still had plenty of time. Two hours later, I’d lost the will to clean. 6 hours after that, I was back in my usual routine, moving stuff from the bed back onto the floor so we could go to sleep.

And that’s where it all sat until this past weekend (a full two weeks later), when we “cleaned up” for guests. Let’s just say you can’t walk in our closet or put anything else in the drawers in the spare bedroom.

Well, I guess there’s always next week…