I got the kitchen neat and straight, for the most part at least. Am determined to keep it that way, too. I've been doing the little dab of washing up every night and wiping things down. It's very nice to wake up to, by the way. Have you every cleaned up a room and the rest of the house is a disaster and all you want to do is live in that room? That's kind of where I am now. 😋
My husband's best friend from high school came through town this week and we had dinner with them. It was pleasant, although their two kids eat like little pigs, literally shoveling food into their mouths off the edge of the plate, and his wife is very nice. I might have committed a faux pas though, they're Mormon, which I didn't realise at first, and I ordered a beer...they were paying. Oops.
Anyway, apparently their house is not in "House Beautiful" shape either and she said they called it the swirling mass of entropy. I like that...classy name for too much clutter to move. I think my place has gone beyond the "creative clutter" term my mom used for my place back in the day. Of course that was after we had massive fights about the way I kept my place, which was really not that bad.
Quite ironic considering her place sank into major problems over the two and half decades after I left. She never hoovered; instead of cleaning the catbox, she'd set it outside and get a new one. My brother and I both found the most disgusting things in her fridge. After she lost her house in Katrina, it would have been a sterling chance to start over with a minimalist life style. But she proceeded to cram the place with furniture, most of it mine, and then when stuff started coming over from the second floor of her house in New Orleans, nothing got thrown out. Her good clothes were lost downstairs, so the clothes that came were bags of stuff she had been getting ready to donate...and yet...she still has them, in addition to clothes she bought here.
She can't find anything she needs, like her SSN card or birth certificate, there's mounds of paperwork, none of which does she need, but she keeps blaming Katrina...twelve years later. and won't throw anything out. I do understand the trauma. but it's kind of hard to help her. And for a while now, her memory is going and she's got the beginnings of dementia, up to and including thinking my son-in-law called her up and bawled her out about something on Facebook. Erm....no...sorry, didn't happen.
There's much more going on and I'm not sharing here, but on top of my own health stuff, work, and my clutter at home (have I done that so I don't have to have my uncle and aunt over?), dealing with her issues is trying to say the least. There are days I just want to keep driving...but I'd have to get lost and stay lost, since my family would never speak to me again.
Thursdays are my night to meet my friend at a coffee shop and write. We chat some, but mostly it's companionship. She's a published author and maybe one day I will be, too. Meanwhile, I keep getting rid of clutter and plot my escape.
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