A post in which 'twas the night before Mother comes

I woke up this morning feeling like it was Friday. One more night of cleaning and then I’m off tomorrow night!!

I kind of floated through work today. My desk is coming together, as I need it to do before I can take some time off. I am REALLY looking forward to this weekend. I so need that time off. I made dinner reservations for tomorrow, and tried to reach Rhonda about Friday with no success.

I went by the store to get the Bounty paper towels (Mom’s preferred brand), and some new knobs for the bathroom vanity. One keeps coming off, and I could just see Mom going under there for something and coming out of the bathroom with a knob in her hand.

I got home and started fluffing. Then it happened. I was folding up laundry on the bed when I saw that Jinx had made a massive puke today right in the middle of the bed!! If ever I was going to wring her fluffy little neck, it would have been tonight. I’ve cleaned for three days, and then she goes and does this. There’s no way I have time to wash the comforter and get it dry and back on the bed before tomorrow night. At that moment, the phone rang.

Justin had called me earlier in the day about coming over, and I figured it would be really good for me if he did – I’ve gotten to the obsessive stage about how the house looks even though it looks fine, and I thought that a break and some perspective would be really good for me. But when the phone rang, I was trying to keep myself from stomping the cat into a small area rug. Then Justin said “Can you tell me how to get to your house from the mall?” It was kind of the last straw. One, I’ve known Justin for three years. Two, he does know a way to get there, just not the shortcut, which is fairly complicated and would involve me basically talking him through downtown. Three, this was one of Lisa’s little passive-aggressive things she would do as an excuse not to come to Greenville – pretend she couldn’t get anywhere on her own. So that particular little caprice really flies up my butt. It was pretty much the last straw, and I went through a brief but intense psychic break. I recovered, and managed to stop from saying what my mind was shouting, thank goodness. I suggested, in strained tones, that perhaps Justin should just come to the house the way he knows.

I persevered with my list of tasks for the evening, but rather half-heartedly. I had wanted things to be perfect, and (as usual) had to resign myself to the fact that they just weren’t going to be. I had just finished wiping the table on the porch and wiping down the rockers (in case we went out there for coffee while Mom was here) when Justin pulled in.

At that point, I resigned myself. I had a few little jobs left, and I was going to vacuum tonight, but I would have had to do it again tomorrow anyway, so I might as well just wait. I guess it really doesn’t matter since the bedroom is decked with boughs of cat vomit anyway.

I poured us something to drink, and we sat on the porch and talked. Then we moved into the house and talked some more. I gave Justin some stained pieces of Wedgwood I bought for cheap to see if he could save them. I had also picked up color swatches for the bedroom, and we went over those. I’m really not thrilled with any of them. I’m having a very hard time making up my mind about what I want, which is very unlike me. I wonder if this is some kind of unconscious clinging to the past. Could re-painting the bedroom have become a symbolic last link with the past for some reason? I know that’s stupid, but I’ve learned never to underestimate the irrationality of my subconscious. It works without my direction, so I don’t trust it.

Justin left, and I cleaned up the kitchen from supper, and did a few of the little jobs I had left on the list. Since I was hungry again, I ate a snack so hopefully I will sleep through the night tonight. I woke up last night, partially because I was starving, and partially because Crooner was having a snort-fest right beside my head.

So I’m not done cleaning, but I’m resigned to things being what they are.