Feast, famine, fuck it.

I was so proud of myself Wednesday. I made a to-do list in my happy-green little planner (which is the first one I've bought that I really use, when I remember) and by the end of the housewife day (they officially end when the kids come home from school), I had done:
7 loads of laundry, (check!)
cleaned the kitchen (check!)
vacuumed (check!)
swept the porches and the sidewalks(check!)
watered the garden (check!)
mopped the kitchen (check!)
And cooked a not-too-shabby dinner.

And did I feel good about my productivity? Yes, yes I did. Smug? Maybe. Feeling unfuckingstoppable? You betcha. Have an extra glass of wine as a reward? Well, if you insist.
I even made a list for the next day; the stuff I didn't get to on Wednesday.
Thursday:
Dust and polish
Bathroom
Mop big scary room downstairs.

Yeah, notice all the checks there? Me neither. Apparently, all I've got in me is one big day. Yesterday, I just...couldn't...do it. Still had that extra glass of wine, tho, as a balm to soothe the disappointed ego.
It's just too easy to sit right here. Clicking things, taking umpteen pictures of myself and finally settling on an almost-cute one. I hope nobody notices that my shirt was a little low-cut and pulled over. Call me Elaine. But it's a good pic, and that just doesn't happen very often. Also did some major facebooking, pretended to research something for my book, stalked the artist Wyland for a while, made a horrible loaf of bread, and that's about it.
And today? Suffice it to say my girlfriends came over this morning. Chuh, like I"m going to do anything other than my hair.
Ding! Must go. Housewife day is over.

Wait. What's that on the floor?

Good Lord. What the hell kind of shit-bomb hit my house over the last 2 days?! I swear, I swear; I went camping Thursday. When I left, the house was clean. Giant mound of laundry conquered, floors sparkling, sink empty and scrubbed, no newspapers on the floor or empty cups scattered hither and yon. I got home Saturday evening; same. So nice to come home to a clean home, right? So now it's, what, Tuesday? I CAN'T SEE THE FRIGGING FLOOR. Mt. Everest of stinky drawers and sheets has arisen in the laundry room. The weiner dog tore apart his bed. Again. It smells like something might have expired with an evil chuckle in the pantry. There's something suspiciously sticky on the wall in the stairwell.
I keep my house in what I'd like to describe as a half-assed state. As my husband so sensitively put it earlier this evening: "You know, you can clean a house like no one I've ever seen. You are really good at cleaning, and I mean that in a good way. But," he says, "you suck at keeping things neat."
I nodded. I know. I start things; I get interrupted and have to come back to them later. Only later never seems to happen. I set something down, fully intending to put it in its rightful spot in just a minute. A week later, it's in my way and pissing me off. I have too much crap. But, most of the time, I get at least the major things done, like vacuuming, I clean the kitchen every day, the bathroom doesn't smell. At the moment, this place is driving me around the curve. I've suddenly snapped and can't take it anymore.
So: tomorrow I am not going anyfuckingwhere. I am taking the girl to school, I am coming home and brushing my teeth, I am checking emails and downloading the Bob and Tom Show podcast, I am getting OFF facebook after 30 minutes and I am cleaning this mo'fo. I am chucking shit. I am dusting. I will fold. Floors will once again sparkle. Dammit, I just might even *gasp* iron.

And then I'll do it aaaaalllll again next week.
Hey, ask me again why I drink so much.