I usually roll into Mondays without much issue. They’re just like any other day of the week except with more “any other day”s strung behind it. Mondays are good days for fresh starts.
Appearing as a vision of an organized home last night, I decided this particular Monday would be the beginning of closet cleaning. It’s true that things are bursting out of them, stuff is falling off shelves, and the doors don’t fully close. It’s overdue.
So the first thing I intended to do after brushing my teeth was to hit up the hardware store for gigantic, black trash bags. That would get me started.
But I got a call at 7:00am from a kid (one of mine). There's only one worse and that's the middle of the night call. Calling from the campus medical center, my son informed me of his fresh diagnosis of mononucleosis. And that he felt like doggie doo doo. And that he had a test in an hour.
When your kids are sick, it’s difficult to concentrate on spring-cleaning because you’re worried and feel powerless especially when they are away at school. (I should probably put together a care package.)
Instead of buying gigantic, black trash bags at the hardware store and digging right into those closets, I decided to go to yoga. I’d have the rest of the day to fill gigantic, black trash bags, right?
But if I wasn’t going to fill gigantic, black trash bags, I should do some “real” work.
Except that after yoga, I really felt like writing. Just a few words about cleaning out closets, I promised myself. The gigantic, black trash bags and my “real” work could wait because it’s only noon and I have the rest of the afternoon, right?
Now that I’m finished writing, I’d really like to finish the book I’m reading. It’s called Where’d You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple. It is one of the funnier books I have read in a long time. There are only 50 pages left which won’t take long. That would still leave me the rest of the afternoon to fill gigantic, black trash bags and do some “real” work, right?
I have a habit of not getting much done on Mondays.