Last week, I jokingly made a statement that, I guess like many others, had a surprising grain of truth to it.
“I need a Life boss. It’s not good when I’m the leader. I never listen to myself”.
If I am tasked with something by another person, I will go above and beyond to get it completed to the very best of my ability. If it’s a task for me, or the laundry or dishes? Psh. That shit can just wait until I have no time left and am forced to do it because Sid is coming home and will not appreciate the mess I’ve made.
It’s as though I figure “if I’m at home, that means I do not have to work”, and “work” for me is .. well, anything that isn’t the internet or ghost shows.
This morning, thanks to the power of my Facebook news feed, I came across this link, which basically says everything I’ve been saying to myself for the past six months… and not actually done anything about.
This week, I am challenging myself to spend a maximum of two hours in total online each evening. Since I usually only leave the computer to shower or use the bathroom, I can spend anywhere from 5 to 7 hours online each night, getting bored as hell with the lack of interesting things to do on the internet and bemoaning my ghost-like existence.
Tonight, the challenge begins. The second wardrobe cull in a year will commence and then, perhaps, if everything fits into my wardrobe easily, I’ll go back to that blissful and short-lived period of never leaving clothes on the bedroom floor again!
Or, I won’t, probably, but at least when time runs out and I have no choice but to put those floor clothes away, I won’t have to roll them into a ball and squish them into whichever open space I can manage to find.
Now, since we both know that I’ll come home from work this afternoon and go “Damnit, past lying Bri! Why did you commit us to this?!”, before promptly rebelling against myself and parking on the lounge for a night of ghosts, I have come up with a way to fool myself.
I have pretended that I will get fired from my work job if my wardrobe is unable to house all of my clothing, and that Sid has been forced by the real estate to tell the truth if questioned, otherwise we’ll get kicked out of home.
That should cause enough anxiety for me to go into a panic and spend the night not only culling the wardrobe, but spring cleaning the entire house from top to bottom with a toothbrush and domestos.