Going down with the ship

The other night I fell asleep in the bath tub - no big deal really - I've been falling asleep in the bathtub for years. But it occurred to me after this nap, that its not a particularly safe thing to do.
I can remember back in the early 1980s when I had my first job at A&W there were two shifts you could work: 9am to 6pm or 6pm until 3am. The best weekends were when you had Friday closing, Saturday closing and Sunday day shift! Tonnes of hours and a full day's sleep on Saturday. And hey, I was working at A&W so it wasn't like I had a social life to worry about.
After these shifts I came home coated in the horrific stench of fried meat and bacon. Sometimes in a shift I had fried 10 pounds of bacon...it does wonders for your skin!
Anyway, on a closing shift, I would come home to a sleeping house. I didn't usually want to watch TV or talk to anyone - but I was usually too keyed up to sleep. I would take a bath. In the middle of the night, in total silence, I would take a bath.
I would go over the evening in my head. Replaying the conversations I'd had with the super nerdy greasy A&W dudes that I totally adored I would think of all the things I should have said but didn't. I would devise all sorts of plans to become my most beautiful me and woo the boys so everyone would love me for me - and not just because of the faint smell of maple bacon I always had.
I would float in the semi darkness of the bath tub - scented with my mother's bath beads - green and red and full of smelly oil. And in the total silence - tired from prepping burgers and making coney fries I would fall into a deep sleep.
And what woke me up? Often it was when the water turned cold - I'd have been asleep for hours - and I'd start shivering in the water - and it would wake me up.
Other times, I would wake up when my ears hit the water. The only sound I could hear was splashing - in my ears - and this was enough to wake me up.
As time went on and I moved from my parent's house to apartment after apartment, I always had a great bath tub for my night time baths.
One of the best bath tubs was in my apartment in London. Sure, the apartment had some problems in that my upstairs neighbour was a prostitute that worked from home and my back door neighbour was a recently released convicted murderer, but the bathroom rocked. It was in the basement - a seriously scary late night stumble down some seriously scary stairs. You couldn't stand totally upright in the bathroom but, what did I care, I sat down to pee. And it was a gorgeous old claw foot tub. Amazing for bathing - and once I caulked up the drainage valves, amazing for sleeping.
The only other claw foot tub I had was in the apartment on Maitland - that was 100+ years old. It was a great apartment until the roof over the tub collapsed because our upstairs neighbour, Bongo Jesus, had a problem shutting off this taps.
When we bought this place I wanted the super sunken tub - not whirlpool. Whirlpools make noise and are very distracting for sleep. Again, once I caulked up the drainage valves on the tub, I was in business. A dose of bath salts - a bath bomb or some bubbles and I can sleep like a baby....
But now, in addition to waking up when my ears hit the water or when the water goes cold, I also wake myself up snoring....you know you're getting old when.... But a nice hot - blazing hot scented bath - that is the way to sleep.
I'm sure one day, the bath will be my undoing - I will fail to wake up - I will go under and not come up. If that's true - I want that in my obituary....she went down with the ship!

on death and dying....

I have a confession to make today. Nothing earth shattering I'm afraid. Nor is it a deep seated confession of sexual perversion.....nor that I am really a man...nothing as cool as that.
I read the obituaries in the newspaper - every day. Sometimes I even read them on line. I have a consumptive interest in the death and life stories of other people. I figure if they took the time and trouble to live their life, the least I can do is read about it.
I started reading them back home - in Stratford - where the entire daily newspaper is less than 20 pages long most days. Usually there are half a dozen dead people - some days more or less. And, best of all, sometimes they run the obit for multiple days.
Sure, the obituary gives you all the facts - where they lived, how old they were when they died and where and when the funeral crap will be. It even tells you where you can make donations in memory of the deceased - which can sometimes give you an idea of what killed them. B
But to me, the important bit is the listing of family. Married to, predeceased by, meeting his parents in the great beyond...that's the information that lets you piece together the important bits of someone's life. That's what tells you what makes the man.
Its in the family list that you can find out all of the bits and pieces of a person's history that they may leave out if they were to tell you themselves. Like the child that they had that died at birth and the brothers and sisters they are estranged from - even the divorces and remarriages. If you were to have met the person while they lived it is likely they would never have told you so much about themselves - all the juicy bits and pieces.
If you are very very very lucky, you find obituaries in the newspaper that tell you about how that person lived. What they did for a living, where they worked, what their hobbies were, charities they worked with and things and people that were important to them. That is like discovering a gorgeous novel!
Always, the gold star for obits is a photo. An old photo is the pinnacle of newspaper obituaries. Not only do you create a history for the person - you can picture the actual person as well. Excellent.
Okay, well not really excellent - cause the person is still dead. My husband thinks its sick that I read them. But, hello, what the hell are they in the paper for?
I want people to read mine. I'm asking you right now, one of you write me a fantastic obituary (preferably AFTER I die) and the rest of you read it. Someone find a picture that doesn't make me look fat. Photoshop it if you have to.
Lisa recently wrote a blog asking how she would be remembered after she died (my suggestions are in the comments) and hypothesized that maybe it doesn't really matter how we are remembered after we die - cause, you know, we're dead. But, it matters to me to remember people.
Today in my troll through the star obits (2 full pages and lots of photos - yay!) I found someone I used to know. Someone I used to work with who beat me out for a Supervisory position once that I really really wanted. She got the job. She also got cancer, suffered for 10 years, and left a husband and child behind and died at 54. Given the choice, I'd rather be unemployed.
I called Wayne to tell him - Jennifer died - and he already knew. Oh no, he said, you're reading the obituaries again. I am. And I'm remembering Jennifer and thanking my lucky stars just to be here.

The Part

I went to a party last night. A party that sucked ass. Hard. And not in a good way. In a very bad very bad way. And I was bored and not amused. Wayne said I was objectionably bored.

I drove around today early waiting for the stores to open when they weren't. I bought meat and felt bad about myself for no reason. Letting down no one. Unfulfilling no promises I had made or not made.

I listened to the radio. I sang along and no one could hear me - or at least I hope they couldn't.

I yelled at my kid today. I said - stop crying or I'll smack you. Cause that makes it all better. And although I knew what I said was wrong, I didn't know what was right to say. It will only get worse - not better. I only make it worse.

I wanted to call you today - yes, you. But I couldn't because of your stupid rules. But more than wanting to call you, I wanted you - yes, you to want to call me. I don't suppose that ever happens, does it?

I imagined my life changing today. Squinting my eyes and praying to be able to visualize a new life a new place and new head and all I got was a headache.

I saw you on MSN today - yes, you - and I wanted to talk - but I didn't. I don't want to be the one to say hey first anymore. I want you to buzz me and then I want the right to be a bitch and ignore you - yes, you. I was hurt for no reason and alone for even less of one.

I felt bad saying that said I love you today - yes, you - and I'm not sure I do. I'm not sure I ever did. I'm not sure I want to.

I emailed you today - yes, you - and deleted it before hitting send. It was too easy. I didn't want to give you an out - give you an in - make it easy. You work this time - not me.

I took a shower today - and in it I had an imaginary conversation with you - yes, you. And you said - of course I miss you - of course we should spend more time together - of course I'm sorry - and I didn't believe you even in an imaginary conversation.

I felt bad today for what I wrote about you - yes, you again - all the mean things I said about you and how I hate you hate you hate you hate you. And although, they are true, every last word, I still feel bad.

I found spots on my leg today and wondered if it was a monster come back to haunt me and eat me from the inside. I showed my husband who said - are you just LOOKING for something to be wrong? And I guess that I am.

I cried a little today. Setting up the computer and I couldn't figure it out and I couldn't make it work. I felt old and useless and stupid and today that was enough to make me cry.

I hid today. From my family in rooms where they weren't. In the car. Just sitting and staring and singing to the radio so I wouldn't have to talk to people and yes, you. I shut myself off here in a blog that spits into the wind.

Puppy Love

I spent part of today bonding with the dog. Cause that's what everybody needs to spend a day doing every once in a while. Getting some love.
This morning when the wind was howling in the open window that I was too cold to get up and close, the dog crawled UNDER the comforter with me. I could hear her saying "although I am covered in fuzz (she doesn't really think of herself as particularly furry), it is considerably colder than it was the other day when the house smelled of meat. I feel the need to warm myself under the thing - I enjoy the thing as we are a similar colour. I understand that as a dog I am colour-blind and shouldn't know this." Then she snuggled up to me and slept until the alarm went off.
Later in the day, as I was making the same bed with the flannel sheets (Good Lord I love the cold!) we played an interesting game of "you can't see me" while she tried to pretend she was invisible and hide under the sheets as I made the bed. Always fun.
In the afternoon, while I was on line in the office, she layed right in the doorway - I assume she does this to protect me, should the cat decide to come in the area and attempt to give me love. Hershey's presence will prevent this. Hershey knows that the cat sleeps all day under my bed - right where she wants her.
When I'm not home, the dog stays in her crate in the living room. Usually I leave either the tv or the radio on for her - don't tell anyone - it seems weird.
It is in those times that I imagine the cat asserts her dominance over the dog. She does this by walking - back and forth - back and forth - in front of the crate the whole time we are gone. In her best prissy kitty voice she says to Hershey "you're in a cage - well, it looks like a cage....I get to walk anywhere I want - anytime I want. Do you know why? Cause they trust me. Its a matter of respect. The humans respect me. Do you know why? Cause I don't eat my own poop. Yep. Do you know why? Cause that's disgusting. You are a disgusting animal in a cage...." and she says this over and over again while Hershey silently weeps "I am not...I am not..."
Hershey only wants to love the cat. Its all she's ever wanted to do. She enivisions them running together in the field near the house - "here Pumpkin - come play with my frisbee!" and Pumpkin rolls up her nose and says "I despise you poop eater>>>harumph".
We drove Ben to karate tonight and Hershey rode in the passenger seat - where she feels she rightfully belongs. She sits primly and watches the cars out the front window. She's not the kind of stick your head out the window to feel nature kind of dog. She's a people watcher dog.
Not that she doesn't have a lot of dog friends. She has Pepper the little poodle we play ball with at the park. The black and white border collie who isn't really a friend but gets her all excited and agitated when he comes around. And the daschund and his brother the cockapoo (they have two daddies) and the little ball of fluff down the street named Charlie, the Rottweiller named Princess and the old Beagle from the park. Lots of doggie friends.
One of my favourite things she does is groom the children! After they get out of the tub or the shower, Hershey tries and tries to lick them dry - tries to comb their hair by licking it - it hard not to let her - she thinks they are her babies...but hey, she eats some gross stuff....
Now as I sit here, Hershey is back at her post, in front of the door. When I stop typing she turns around to look at me to check that I'm okay. I assume if I turn to her she'd come lick me. Just to see if I taste okay. So here's to Hershey. Cause everyonce in a while everyone needs some love from the dog.

Thanksgiving List

Every thanksgiving I think I should have a list of all the things that I am thankful for. I think that it comes from an old episode of some tv show - I want it to be the Brady Bunch, but, I don't think that it was. In this tv show, the family would sit around the table, hold hands and each one would say a little speech about what they were thankful for.
I am more of a list maker than a speech giver. Okay, well, that's strictly not true in that I'm both a list maker and a speech giver. But my obsessive compulsive listmaking is legendary. I rock the comprehensive multi-tasking list like only a woman can.
So, instead of my thanksgiving speech I give you my thanksgiving list 2007 in NO PARTICULAR ORDER:
I am thankful each day that my kids aren't hooligans or wierdos. I am thankful that they think burping and farting is hysterical and that they love cartoons, don't do crack and aren't giving or getting blow jobs behind the school. I think that its so wonderful that they are so incredibly normal.
I am thankful that my friends listen to me when all I have to say is something about nothing. Its a generous thing to do.
I am thankful that people don't think I'm as annoying as I think I am.
I am eternally thankful that I remember little stupid things about the past that I should likely have long forgotten. Like bendy-straws. I remember my grandfather saving up his bendy-straws when he was in the hospital when I was about 10 - and bringing them home to me because I loved them so. I was so excited to get a straw wrapped in paper. I'm thankful I can remember that.
I'm thankful to have my body. No matter how horribly ugly I often think it is. No matter how it betrays me by making my brain feel sick and my stomach turn. No matter how it takes normal things and makes them difficult. Its still all I've got. Perhaps if I was nicer to it and treated it better it would be better to me.
I'm thankful that I get to spill out all the thoughts that are in my head and very rarely does someone tell me how badly I suck.
I'm thankful that I have the time and abilty to think.
I'm thankful for silence. And music. And good movies.
I'm thankful that the dog just likes to sit with me. Sometimes she sits right up against me and just sighs. She loves me.

Its not a comprehensive list. But its a start. Because, quite frankly, if I look at the nowhere place that my life is right now, I just get too scared to be too thankful for too many things in case someone says I have more than my share and takes anything away.

The Book

I've bought myself a journal. A paper one. To write stuff down.
Lately, I've found myself writing on the backs of envelopes I've got in my purse or bits of paper headed to recycling. Not prolific introductions for the GREAT CANADIAN NOVEL - but just thoughts and stuff and observations.
I know I have TWO blogs. One here - and one on myspace. And, I could most likely write stuff on facebook if I was so inclined. I also have a couple of friends through which email has become a wonderful exchange of ideas. But I have this obsessive need to write what no one can see but me.
And - to write it with a pen!
I medium blue ballpoint pen. Not a clicky pen, because I play with those. Not a fine pen because I tend to press too hard and wreck the paper. Just a plain old bic pen. On paper. And I will keep it to myself.
It feels like I'm doing something wrong in a "the kids are in bed lets have another gin and tonic" kind of way.
Do you keep a journal?
I wonder who does.
Did you keep one as a kid?
I always did. Up to my 20s really. Then I lost interest in recording what I felt as closely. I felt like I had to live life instead of write it down. I am the same way about pictures. Sometimes it feels more important to forget about making a photo essay about "family trip to the park" and just enjoy the park.
I have been writing a lot lately though. And I think I'm feeling a lot more confident with my stuff. I have a few great friends who helped me out a lot - said nice things - and some not nice things - and pushed me in a direction or two that I want to go.
I'm going to start writing grant proposals for my kid's school - to beg for money for little things like library books and air conditioning. I figure if all it does is improve my typing speed - I'm good. But its writing something.
But not on paper. Paper and pen I'm saving for myself.

The Actual Sound Track of the Movie of My Life

Dan's challenge to me from his comment on my last blog was this:

If you had to pick and compile the "Soundtrack to the Movie of your LIfe" album...and it COULD be a double...please specify the opening song and the closer-credits song.

I would start the Album out with "I think I love you" not the David Cassidy alone version - but the Partridge Family Version. Because so much of my early dealings with music came from tv - Donny & Marie, Captain & Tennille, Sonny & Cher - I would put in a nice 1970s sitcom theme song medley - there was rarely a time in our house when the tv was NOT on.

From there I would add in snippets from those K-tel albums - Brandy, you're a fine girl, When the lights all went out in Massachusetts...Maggie May - who doesn't love just a little Rod Stewart. And I have a love of Melissa Manchester and Barry Manilow that is both unexplainable and disturbing but must be acknowledged.

Next we would have the songs of high school - Rough Trade's High School Confidential, Romantic Traffic from the Spoons, Wham, Depeche Mode, Yaz, the Eurythmics and of course Duran Duran. And I'll always have a soft spot for Elton John's "I guess that's why they call it the blues" (particularly bad dumping by a boy who NEVER deserved me). I was never a metal fan - none of that crap. I used to say I didn't enjoy music that had guitars.

From the time when I started University we could add in Tears for Fears, Everybody wants to rule the world, Everything But the Girl and Small town boy - that was Bronski Beat - right? Intersperse some bits and pieces of British 80s invasion pop - Style Council, Housemartins, Boy George and Culture Club and Madness. Love, Love will tear us apart, again...

I developed a love of dancing and shook my groove thing to Divine - You think You're a Man - and Dead or Alive Spun me Right Round baby like a record baby right round round round. And I would have been a different person all together had Lisa and I not sung Janet Jackson's entire Control album into our curling irons - so we'll put on Control.

When I moved to Toronto I discovered the joy of live music and the soundtrack would contain live, in concert recordings from the long gone likes of the Razorbacks, the Skydiggers, the Waltons and the Lowest of the Low - Life's a bitch for the eternal fatalist....And since I saw Blue Rodeo in concert over 100 times (no - I am not kidding) I would have to add in a few of theirs: of course Try and maybe something from Tremolo.

Through my Blue Rodeo journey I discovered Barenaked Ladies - and I really do just love them - I'd be hard pressed to pick just a few songs - but I like their ballads - NOT the If I had a million dollars/chimpanzees stuff. Definitely "Any other guy", "in the car" and "half a heart"

From there I did a whole range of pop-y stuff from the Radio. I went through some angry sad girl rock - Allanis Morrisette screamed for me - and Jann Arden made me sad. I'd definitely have "Good Mother" on the soundtrack of my life.

One thing that is not ever no never on my CD is Jazz....I hate jazz in all its many forms - no jazz....never.

In the last couple of years I'd add quite a few things to the end of the CD (wow its a huge CD!):

• Cold Play - Fix You (because its a song about good friends and people who love you)
• Cry me a River - the Cliks (cause boys sometimes suck ass and that's good to remember)
• Calendar Girl - Stars (which I am sure was written expressly for me and speaks totally about my cancer journey)

The big album closer is this - its Barenaked Ladies - For You

"If I hide myself where ever I go

Am I ever really there"

I don't think its a song about me or one that is universally loved - but I know its a song that reflects how my insides feel when I'm alone. Its SO SO SO important for me to be myself - and as much as I know it - I constantly forget it. And I need to constantly remind myself to stay present - in the moment - enjoy what I have - and to not hide myself wherever I go.


P.S. I forgot Robbie Williams and the Philosopher Kings.

Soundtrack of my life

There is a soundtrack to all of our lives - music that plays in the background - songs that ultimately remind you of the times of your life. Whether you are listening or not, it's there.
Recently I watched a couple of old movies - and by old I mean - Less than Zero from 1987 and Pretty in Pink from even earlier than that. These were movies I watched as a young adult - and watching them again I noticed that I knew every word from every song - and that songs were all through the movies - every scene every moment had some sound behind it. It didn't seem artificial at all.
Everywhere I go - in the car, at home - there seems to be music. Not always music I like but music nonetheless. I think its part of the whole multi-tasking of our generation.
My kids don't have that same soundtrack - there is more of the electronic beeps and boops that they favour now adays. I can remember listening to albums on my Mom's giant console stereo with my head pressed up against the speakers. I had 2 albums when I was my son's age - 9 - both K-tel compilations. I used to listen to "Brandy - you're a fine girl" over and over and over again.
I used my babysitting money to buy singles and albums. An important boy gave me Duran Duran's first album and changed my life. Then when I put Rio on my stereo turntable (by that time I had my own) it didn't come off for MONTHS. It was my soundtrack for those years.
Near the end of high school I bought myself a Sony walkman - I converted to cassette and went everywhere plugged in to what today would be GI-NORMOUS headphones. It was through the headphones that I discovered the joys of 80s music. Its stuck with me through my whole life.
I started going to concerts when I moved to Toronto - the concert was an extension of the soundtrack - the soundtrack live if you will!
Even now, as I head heart first into the throes of middle age - I hear music everywhere I go - in behind every conversation, everything I read and all that I write. I don't know anymore if my musical taste is any good or ever remotely socially acceptable - nor do I care.
Its nice to hope that things won't change. But it did for my parents - those K-tel albums were replaced for them by horrid country music that rotted the core of my being! Please don't let me be THAT guy!
I sure hope that when they make the movie of my life - and they will - that the soundtrack kicks ass - is a cool blend of 80s and 90s good stuff - has plenty of Can-con and the music of people I love.

Rearranged

When I opened my email box today, there was email from someone I hadn't heard from in months. It wasn't a reply to an email I'd sent - it was honest to God unsolicited communication. And, my heart skipped a beat! I got that funny in my tummy oooooh hurry to get to the inbox feeling!
Do you get that too?
Like when someone you really like - who you hardly ever hear from signs in to MSN and the computer makes its little "DOOT" to tell you that they are there....and because you promise yourself NOT to be the girl that MSNs the second that other people sign in you suck in your breath just in case just in case they message you!
oOOOOOOOOOH and when they do - and MSN makes it heart churning "dootaldoo" to let you know that someone - this one - wants to talk to you - oh the excitement!
Its not the frequency or infrequency of contact that I have with the sender that makes me exctied for these emails and (usually) middle of the night e-conversations. I have that same "a cute boy likes me" lift to my spirits through the telephone as well. And, lord help me, of course they are all from boys - and not necessarily ones that LIKE like me if you know what I mean and you do.
Why are these particular communications so uplifting? They are from people that I like and people that make me happy. Not that everyone doesn't make me happy in some way (except THOSE people) its just some people make me that kind of special happy. The kind that makes your heart skip a beat. Not love or sex or romance happy - just regular old run of the mill special happy.
When I get email from my cousins it takes a dogs age for me to respond. Its hard to find the words to say and things to talk about - coming from me that's weird, eh? If blabbing was an Olympic sport I could talk for Canada! But those conversations take WORK. The special ones are not work at all - just stuff you want to say for the pure joy of saying it.
Some people are easy to write to - those people who hear you talk when you write - that's different. Even my friend from this morning - who so rarely writes back, is the easiest person in the world to email.
Back in the day, we would exchange email 5 times a day...not so much anymore as life wiggles its way in the middle of chats sometimes. When I would email him I would sign them all "love you, S". At one point, I sent out an email to a work colleague and signed it "love you, s" - and hit send - luckily it was a work colleague with a good sense of humour cause it was humiliating. To this day, I force myself to re-read even the smallest tiniest emails in case at some point, I have told the person somewhere in the email that I love them...cause that might be wrong!
So thank you to the people who make my tummy and my spirits flutter when I've got mail - it makes me shiver with anticipation.
love you,
S

The Price of Gas

So Dan insists that we talk about farts since he thinks he is the ONLY person who has ever farted in public ever in the entire world (see the comments on my last blog).

I live in a house FULL of testosterone. I have two sons and a husband and all have been blessed with the Fletcher Family Flatulence. In our house farts are funny.

But, those aren't the sort of funny fart stories I've decided to tell here today. My kids fart. My husband farts and yes - Dan, as he told us in his comments, also farts - I assume although I have not experienced his farts myself.

But my point is that girls fart. Girls fart just like boys - loud and proud - in public and in private - at home and at work. We do. I swear. All kinds: silent, smelly, loud and proud, wet and juicy - all kinds of gas.

A friend of my cousin Amy was getting married a few years ago. She and her future husband had been living together for years - and they had 2 kids already - marriage was just really a formality. She and Amy had the big "heart to heart" after the bride started to have second thoughts. How did she know that the two of them would stay together? How did she know that he would be a good Dad? How did she know that this was the right guy for her? Why, she couldn't even "pass wind" in front of him.....What? She couldn't what?

She had been with this guy for years - lived with him - had babies with him (so undoubtedly allowed his penis to enter her at LEAST twice!) but she couldn't/wouldn't fart in front of him. She told Amy that sometimes it was PAINFUL to hold it inside. She would rather live in pain than pass wind out her ass in front of a man who she had seen naked.

My point is - everyone farts - everyONE of us. But this strange girl saw farting as something exceedingly private - something to be kept to herself - or more than that - something to be kept AWAY from someone else. To what end??? Pain? Freedom from embarrassing sound.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me - but will sounds? Gas? Wind? Smells?

She worked through her jitters - married the guy and had 2 more babies with him. I wonder every time I see them if she lets them rip now - surely to heaven she saw sense. She does seem very tense though...

My mother was a very proper person. She would NEVER ever ever have farted in front of strangers - she kept her farts especially for home and her family!

It's hard to describe really. My mother would pass gas - always tiny sharp sounds - we called them "toots" as kids. When she tooted she would laugh - "OH!" - like it was a surprise to her. When she laughed she would toot - and the whole process would repeat itself over and over again! I remember practically rolling on the floor in hilarity as my mother killed us with her powerful stink. Its still funny.

So there you have it - everybody farts. Some of us loud and proud wherever we are and some of us in secret to hide our humanity from our loved ones. Its just gas people - nothing earth shattering. Well, sometimes it is....

Who knew

Today I washed the walls in my house. I didn't think that they would be particularly dirty but they were. From what? Dirty children hands, the odd candle burning and time. My question today is this:
Does everyone wash their walls? Why have never heard of this practise??? I mean other than the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser commercials for when your kids draws on the wall with crayons, non erasable markers or paint with their own feces? (And by the way, that's what I used to wash the walls - thanks Mr. Clean - they truly are magical!)
I don't remember my mother EVER washing the walls of our house. She did laundry; sometimes washed the floor and occasionally bullied my brother or I to vacuum. But never, not once did I ever see her or hear of her washing the walls. To be fair, until I was in high school we had red velvet textured wallpaper all through the downstairs of our house -and that probably would have been a bitch to wash.
Did Mr. Clean revolutionize the world of cleaning or is washing the walls one of those things that we just don't talk about like: after you have surgery your wounds can pop open and what to do when you have diarrhea and are vomiting at the same time?
And, for that matter - why are there things that happen to ALL of us that we just don't ever talk about? Why don't we talk about wet farts, hiccuping and burping at the same time and day dreaming? We all do it. I'm sure we do.
So here: let the clean walls of my house be your inspiration - send me your stories about what people just don't talk about - sandra_fletcher@hotmail.com. Lets talk about them here. Clean walls and all.

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.