Damn that Oprah

At one point this summer (it must have been a low point!) I found myself watching Oprah and listening to some cleaning expert tell me that a messy house means that you have a messy life. Whether your life is in abject chaos, your finances are in chaos, your mind is messed up, you are psychotic, your husband is a crossdressing lunatic and your children are addicted to crack - whatever the mess - it is reflected in how you keep your home.

Talk It Out
What's really causing your clutter?
Peter Walsh and Dr. Robin team up to get to the bottom of your
piles.

My home says that my life sucks ass.

I complain, and have done so here on this blog many a time, that I feel pressure from my husband to clean - because I am a slob. And my friends will often mock my slobby-ness. But, this summer, as I ran around playing in the park with the kids and walking thousands of miles at the zoo, something happened in my house - it was a transformer of sorts and turned from rusty pick up truck into a giant walking fire breathing dragon beast. No. Seriously. In a "there is crud stuck on the bottom of the fridge that is sticky and has been there since june" and "I'm afraid to turn the oven on in case it spontaneously combusts" kind of way. Yep. Its bad. Not that I'm going to invite anyone here to check it, you'll just have to take my word for it.

And, as irony would have it, I think that this Oprahexpert may be right. My House is a mess because My Life is a mess.

I have this thing that I say to myself all the time that makes me feel better and calms me down - I can only control what I can control - I can't control the world but I can control my reponse to it.

Apparently, I can't control anything. I don't honestly feel as if I've had any control over anything that has happened in my life in the last year (at least!) and so I feel (today) as if I've given up trying to take control of EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING.


Today I caught up on the laundry that was in the basement. Then I discovered that there were 6 more baskets of laudry waiting upstairs. I used to be able to get caught up every week. I can do that again I'm sure. But I think I need to take baby steps.


I'm going back to "work" tomorrow. I say work in quotations because its one hour a bloody day at the school watching kids NOT eat the food their parents send them and trying to make sure no one dies on the playground.

My assumption is that forcing myself to shower each day and wear a bra will also force back into my life some semblance of normality. I'm assuming that it will anyway. Who knows.


I NEED to go back to the gym. Badly. And I will. I swear. I have made a date with myself to go back Thursday. Yes. No more excuses. I feel as if I can't quite physically handle my life anymore and part of that I'm sure is the fact that I am a giant pile of cream and jelly. I don't mind if I'm a fat chick but I have to be a fit fat chick or its just not going to work. Back I go. I enjoy the eliptical trainer and the treadmill however, I don't like to sweat. Whatever.


Maybe if I can be more disciplined then shit will start to fall into place - in my life, in my house, in my relationships, with my job, inside my head....I wonder if Oprah when told that she messed with your head would send a team of experts to sort you out? Or is that a more Maury Povich kind of thing. Maybe all I need to do is watch more tv!

UPDATE: September 6th - only 3 loads of laundry (or so) left to be done and I just cleaned the refridgerator. Yep, even the crisper drawers. I made chicken meatballs in home made sauce for dinner and took out the composting. I'm getting there.