With humblest apologies to The Clash, but their question is still very valid. After coming home from just a brief trip like this, I am freshly humbled by the machine that is my life. It carries on spinning while I’m away. And the question I come up with is the one they sang so well, Should I stay or should I just run back out the door? Time for another trip or should I actually deal with the mess?
Remember those playground rides where you push the round spinning platform by running beside it, and then, once it’s really whirling, you jump up and hang on to the metal bars while it whirls around and around and you try not to hurl?
Well, I think the trick is to just fling myself back into my life just like that. That way, it’s sort of like staying and going, all in one swirly cyclone.
It might not be quite as messy around here if Kevin hadn’t been away too. But as it is, the fridge has some pretty frightening science experiments on the go, the weeds are thigh-high, the newly-planted blueberry bushes are dead and I don’t even want to talk about the writing stuff that I’m supposed to be doing.
But the funny and best part of it all? I am finding it rather amusing. It used to really get me in a twist. I had this stupid notion that everything had to be done. NOW.
And now I just look at all that laundry, the emails, the whatever…and figure most people are battling their own piles of crap. Whatever.
I’m beginning to think that if I ever truly caught up to all I wanted to do, it would mean I was dead. Bring it on. This is called life. And really? I’m only as busy as I want to be.
In fact, I might press ignore on the whole bunch of it and go read my book. What the hell? Isn’t it summer?
I still think there is a huge market for inflammable paint and surface protectors. Then you just throw in a molotov cocktail, shut the door, and come back in 4 hours to a neat little pile of ash and a fresh start. Product of the century!
I do try to plan my exit and return to the house, so that I leave with it in the best (read=most realistic) condition: anything that even MIGHT get bad goes before I do; laundry caught up at least on the wash side; lawn mowed low (learned that lesson the $350 hard way). My one rule to myself is NEVER COME HOME EARLY ENOUGH TO DO ANYTHING BUT GO TO BED. Arriving at 7pm has got to be the worst; tired and grumpy from captivity in the car and have to remain upright long enough to get utterly dismayed and have to do something about it.
I remember one time with my X-man when the girls were young; I came home from some weekend thing exhausted and with a migraine and the entire house looked as if a bomb had gone off – every single horizontal surface was covered in teetering piles of old dishes, mail, books, newspapers, drawings, keys, food. I thought I was going to wink right out of existence from sheer apoplexy.
Hey, and here I thought my marriage ended because I’m gay! Holy insight batgirl 🙂
Your Molotov cocktail idea is brilliant. Kind of like a super-hot oven cleaner for the house. Pouf! Done!
I also like your late arrival recommendation. That way the dead plants, the overwhelming weeds and dried up flower pots will just look like lovely whispering shadowy foliage, instead of stark reminders of my willful negligence.
My least favorite part about coming home from a trip is dealing with the accumulated detritus – the mail, the laundry, the bills…that re-entry into real life is difficult. I have no idea how the astronauts do it! Imagine what the re-entry from outer space is like!
I love that thought Becca. That adds a whole other dimension (so to speak 🙂
Maybe that’s where they came up with the line, “Houston. We have a problem.”