So the original plan for the day was to be as unproductive as humanly possible. I told myself that I would simply ignore the stuff around my house, do nothing, let my husband work all day and somehow con him in to making dinner when he got home. This works well on spaghetti night, because I just can't make it as good as he does.
As the hours drag by, I have come to the decision that this may not work out after all.
My to do list while not doing the thousands of other things that I am supposed to be doing:
Laundry-
Damn, never-ending, wrinkled, spontaneously appears, laundry. I wouldn't be surprised if air traffic control rerouted airplanes around my house due to my 10,000 ft. high pile of laundry.
I loathe laundry....
It taunts me, just lying there on my floor, staring out me, secretly laughing because it knows when I do fold it, I will later find more in a random corner, the bathroom, behind the T.V., or my husband will decide to clean out his car. His car alone usually yields a good five work shirts, shorts from three summers ago, shoes that don't match, winter hats that are magically dirty even though they are still in box from last Christmas, bathing suits, with a few other unidentifiable objects. J's are the best with the McDonald's french fries, rocks, and change still in the pockets. There are only three people in this house, and I wear PJ's on my day's off.... How in the hell does this happen?
Dishes:
I have a little more success in this department. Currently, I have a pile in the sink and an empty dishwasher. Sad, isn't it? I could get up right now and I would no longer have to stare at it and wonder what I'm growing in there.
I'm gonna do it.
Today.
At some point.
I'm just scared to leave my room because I may find more laundry...
Call the school:
This is always fun. There is nothing better than spending thirty-five minutes on the phone, 34 min. of it on hold, only to have a pointless conversation with someone who doesn't know what they are talking about, only requiring that I be transferred to another person who also doesn't know what they are talking about. It becomes an endless, vigorous, cycle of conversation, at which my question is usually only partially answered. Thus forcing me to scream at the top of lungs while the neighbors gather outside in street wondering what's going on in here. Honestly, I think I would rather have my toes chopped off one by one, or stick my head in an oven. But these things must be done.....
I just hope I don't find anymore laundry on my way to the phone.
As the hours drag by, I have come to the decision that this may not work out after all.
My to do list while not doing the thousands of other things that I am supposed to be doing:
Laundry-
Damn, never-ending, wrinkled, spontaneously appears, laundry. I wouldn't be surprised if air traffic control rerouted airplanes around my house due to my 10,000 ft. high pile of laundry.
I loathe laundry....
It taunts me, just lying there on my floor, staring out me, secretly laughing because it knows when I do fold it, I will later find more in a random corner, the bathroom, behind the T.V., or my husband will decide to clean out his car. His car alone usually yields a good five work shirts, shorts from three summers ago, shoes that don't match, winter hats that are magically dirty even though they are still in box from last Christmas, bathing suits, with a few other unidentifiable objects. J's are the best with the McDonald's french fries, rocks, and change still in the pockets. There are only three people in this house, and I wear PJ's on my day's off.... How in the hell does this happen?
Dishes:
I have a little more success in this department. Currently, I have a pile in the sink and an empty dishwasher. Sad, isn't it? I could get up right now and I would no longer have to stare at it and wonder what I'm growing in there.
I'm gonna do it.
Today.
At some point.
I'm just scared to leave my room because I may find more laundry...
Call the school:
This is always fun. There is nothing better than spending thirty-five minutes on the phone, 34 min. of it on hold, only to have a pointless conversation with someone who doesn't know what they are talking about, only requiring that I be transferred to another person who also doesn't know what they are talking about. It becomes an endless, vigorous, cycle of conversation, at which my question is usually only partially answered. Thus forcing me to scream at the top of lungs while the neighbors gather outside in street wondering what's going on in here. Honestly, I think I would rather have my toes chopped off one by one, or stick my head in an oven. But these things must be done.....
I just hope I don't find anymore laundry on my way to the phone.
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