I am pretty darn close to being ready for my touring class, which begins on Monday. The Boy is sleeping sweetly in his bed (I know 'cuz I just checked), and the Dog is done with her Chicken Dog routine, since the thunder is passed. The Husband is probably sitting in front of his laptop in the Windy City, or maybe enjoying a rare evening actually watching TV on the television. (He can only watch DVDs on on the TV at home. We didn't ever get around to purchasing the whatever you have to have to get television for free now.)
My one-act plays are cast, and I have read several pages of our final issue of Newsweek. Not that it is especially newsy, now. I am considering a switch back to Time.
Again, the mellow woman speaketh. However, don't worry. Was I mellow before? Just ask the Dog Cabinet. I threw away about seventeen pounds of shit. I found an expired can of dog food, rock hard dog biscuits, several old sippy cup lids.... (Just the lids, mind you. Why?) I recycled even more. Why did I keep just one plate of a stupid set of paper plates? Why did I find three bags FULL of plastic knives? Does anyone use plastic knives? Really? Do they cut?
Calming down. More cider.
So, after I cleaned out that cabinet (WHY DO I FUCKING HAVE THREE DOG PRESCRIPTIONS THAT EXPIRED IN 2006???), I next tackled the Boy's closet. I don't know why the top of his dresser was completely covered in over a foot's worth of stacked and semi-folded clothes, but it was. I don't understand. When I fold the laundry, I put everything in the drawers. So what was this stuff? I found a pair of girl's pants, a hanger without the hanging bit, and two opened containers of baby wipes. And that was all before I tackled the mess on the floor. I found a red sweater with clowns on it... the Boy won't fit it for maybe another two years, and would probably slit his wrists before being seen in public wearing it. Clowns, I ask you... Anyway, I filled a ginormous bag with items that the Boy cannot wear anymore, and are now in the basement awaiting the looming yard sale (or moving truck to Salvation Army).
And for the coup de grace, while the Boy watched his evening videos, I tackled the master bathroom. I am not sure why I found four empty bottles in the shower, other than the maid sucks and needs to be fired.
[That is a running joke in the house. I tell the Husband that the kitchen looks like ass, and that our maid sucks, and he needs to fire her, the joke being that I am the maid. He just gives me one of his patented "That's my Gracie Lou" looks, and ignores me.]
It was kind of funny. I honestly had NO idea that the glass doors to the shower were NOT frosted glass. (giggle) And I had forgotten what how shiny the floor tiles look when not covered in a soft cushioned carpet of black dog hair.
So, yeah, I went a little nuts today. I know that many people consider cleaning to be a Useful Task and Necessary. I think of cleaning as destructive. Honestly. There is nothing better than throwing shit out. I LOVE aggressively scrubbing something. When the Husband's boss was acting like Stalin, I tackled the heavy saute pan with a scrubber, and imagined that the stained and scummy surface was her face. My pan is awful purty now.
So, I have a clean Dog Cabinet, a clean closet in the Boy's room, and a clean Master bathroom, and I am now out of cider...
Does emptying the bottle of cider count as a destructive or a constructive act?
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