Aw, minions. Someone call the office and tell ’em I’m never coming in again.
Okay, that’s just the kneejerk Monday reaction. Why? Because I can’t even begin to believe how much I’ve gotten done this weekend. I’m clearly indestructible. Obviously those Borg implants have made me into a tower of force.
I mean, I even assembled tricky Ikea things this weekend, man. I came, I painted, I reassembled, I tidied, I conquered. And now I’d like to die, but instead I’m chowing down on Shredded Wheat with strong coffee chasers, dreading 7.5 hours of work flanked by rainy scooter rides wearing my no-longer-waterproof riding gear. Perfect Monday morning.
But I’m almost done around the house, man! Yeah! (Okay, not even close, but… Hey! Serious progress! “Day” projects remain, but no more “weekend” projects.)
And the things I’ve come across. Finally I can end the all-consuming hunt for the Babysitter’s Certificate I lost 22 years ago. It’s been located. Whew, what a stress off my mind. Wow. I can resurrect my long-lost babysitting career after two decades of hiatus. Hell, I even found my “Cooking with Mom” cookbook I made my mom when I was in Kindergarten (1979). Let’s make cookies!
Nothing like completely rearranging your home, painting everything, swapping out furniture, and going through every little thing on the way to give you the world’s biggest glimpse at what has been your life. Man, I felt like a beaming white spotlight was going to land on me and a big voice would boom, “Scribe Called Steff, THIS is YOUR life!”
“Remember this rock? You found this on Nye Beach in the spring of ’99 and turned it into a pen holder! You industrious girl! Remember the promise you made your maker as you stared out on the rollicking Oregon ocean? That’s right! Say it with me…”
Very, very, very weird weekend. This is what happens when you spend too much time alone. Way too many lapses into yesteryear remembrances this weekend. Weird, weird times.
The good news is, my self-imposed isolation is over. Now I start peeling back the layers and start having a life again. And now that the gruelling physical labour’s done around my house, I need to bring the stairclimbing back in. Plus, the exciting experience of cooking food. Real, healthy food. One more fucking frozen pizza and I’ll take a fillet-knife to the stockboy, man.
By the end of tonight my kitchen will be clean and the Spackle dust and grime will finally be eradicated. A cook-worthy kitchen could be had! Maybe even as soon as tomorrow, a salad could loom! Green! Fresh! No cheese! No Spackle dust! WOW.
The hard part now will be continuing the weight loss and muscle-building. Hence why I need to get the food thing solved quickly, and why, despite bone-weary exhaustion, cleaning the kitchen’s the only thing I care to achieve tonight (and why I’m splurging on my all-time fave takeout for fuel to do just that). I mean, 10, 12 pounds down during a three-week beer and pizza binge? Granted, I counted some calories, but still, on general principal, it’s just wrong to lose weight when beer and pizza is involved. Now come the trick of actual weight-loss through lifestyle. 24 pounds and counting? Blah. :P
And, in the next day or two, all the paint fumes might finally subside and my brain’s synapses may start firing again, yielding possibly interesting blogging.
But… thank you all for hanging in and letting me bore you with my adventures in decor. Y’all rock.
Soon, back to life amongst the living, and photographic evidence of all I’ve achieved around Le Pad du Steff. Enjoy your Monday.