Recently, I’ve gotten so lazy that my brains have melted out of my ears.
There was a lot of activity in the not so distant past. Ditto anxiety. Still, the garden is full of weeds, the laundry is stacked up and in spite of being stinky from the gym, I haven’t headed to the shower yet.
I told myself I’m going to garden, so I’ll clean up after. That hasn’t happened.
I keep thinking, “Who is this person?” I have always been the one with the list, plan and check marks of completion. You should have seen me swat-paint my Son’s man-cave a few weeks ago. Ceiling, walls, woodwork in two days.
It was the last chore in a two-year saga of home improvement that consisted stripping various gross floral wallpapers and icky brown tile beloved by the previous owner. Walls, woodwork, ceilings, and doors: all done. Nothing on earth can force me back to the Home Depo paint counter.
Since then - not doing anything – which isn’t exactly new, but before I at least hid the fact by making dinner.
Now I read books lying on the couch. I should be ashamed of myself.
We did have a great weekend. My Daughter felt good enough to visit her boyfriend – home for the summer in Pa. Mr. W, our Son and I received a last minute invite to a beach house and had a very pleasant weekend with friends in a lovely setting.
And yet, here I am, back in the real world, with life stacked up to do, in sweaty gym clothes, yawning.
I swear, I can hear the couch calling me.