I got back from DC last Saturday night. I worked about 70 hours in the subsequent 7 days, and I leave for San Diego on Wednesday around 4:30 am.
So, naturally, after spending a few hours working this morning (fortunately, curled up in the loveseat in the office, with a blanket and a cat), I spent the day doing chores.
I picked a broiled chicken clean so that we have a box of chicken in the fridge for salads and sandwiches.
I made meatloaf, mac and cheese, and garlicky spinach and mushrooms for dinner.
I washed three sinks of dishes (cooking makes a mess!), and turned over three loads of laundry.
I helped Justin move in Grandma’s kitchen table, the chairs from Deb’s kitchen, and my new rolltop desk, and transferred the stuff from the one to the other, then helped carry the other table downstairs, and the desk… well, maybe Will can help carry it to the garage tomorrow.
I ruthlessly harvested an out-of-control aloe plant and froze the flesh, then declared “we can get a new aloe sometime”, and also discarded and cleaned up the remains of the peace lily I killed a few months back. (oops.)
I weeded out my cookbook collection, boxing up extras for donation to the public library book sale, and reorganized my favorites.
I moved the bookcase the cookbooks had once been on, and negotiated with J over where it should live.
I vacuumed the kitchen, and washed the bathroom and kitchen rugs.
I wiped down the stove and the countertops.
I filled my vitamin and pill tray for the week.
I put away all of the clean laundry in my bedroom, and put away all my jewelry, too.
I found and organized the paperwork for some health insurance stuff, and stashed it in my purse where I can’t forget it.
I played Castleville about 10 times, and looked through the outline of my presentation later this week a dozen more than that, always turning it over in the back of my mind.
I laughed with J as we closed the cats into the glass-fronted bookcase, declaring “we’re starting a museum!”, giggling at how very nonplussed both cats were at this.
And, at 11:15, after doing crunches and pushups and some stretches for my neck and shoulders, I remembered the last cooking thing I’d meant to do, and I cooked half a pound of breakfast sausage for morning food the next few days, and did another load of dishes.
And now it’s midnight. I’ve checked my work email and my calendar, made a food plan for tomorrow, conferred with J about what errands need running, and given a brief bit of thought to what I’ll wear tomorrow. It’s bedtime now.
And while, given my week last week and the one upcoming, this wasn’t what I *wanted* to do today — knitting and watching Grosse Pointe Blank sounded nice, as did going to a movie with J, or playing Mass Effect 2 so I can finish it before Mass Effect 3 gets to the house — it was what I needed to do today. I feel calmer, more centered, and more capable for having done it all. I feel like I’m in control of my life and my needs and my expectations, and like I know what steps come next and how to do them.
It was worth it. Not precisely fun, but worth it.