2002-01-10 - 10:59 a.m.

I am making up for yesterday, where I spent most of the day laying around feeling sorry for myself. I made my bed this morning as soon as I got out of it, and I heard my mother's voice in my head, telling me that's the best way. It only takes two minutes, she said, and it looks a thousand times better and you've already accomplished something.

I didn't understand this logic at the time (or ever, maybe, until today) She was a stay at home Mom for years, and even when she went back to work, work always, always, came second. After us. But now, being off work for a month, I understand what she means. I've been staying home more (trying not to spend money) and writing and lounging around and reading and watching bad TV. Which is all well and good, but there are days that being in pajamas until 2 in the afternoon, or looking at the same dishes in the sink for three days in a row, makes me feel like shit. It's easy to lose track of the time and the days, when you're home all the time. You lose the structure to your days, which, although liberating, can become almost depressing.

So anyway, my mother was right. I feel all accomplished now, and just the fact that I'm sitting here, dressed and fed and Warm Vanilla Sugar-smelling, makes me feel much better, more productive. Isn't that stupid?

I've never cared about making the bed - I'm never here to see it. I could always justify slacking off on my household chores - hey, I'm busy working - by the time I come home and change and go to dinner, it's bedtime again by the time I get back, so why bother? But now - without a job to go to, undone chores are just reminders of my slackerness.

Speaking of - I had to put the houseman on hiatus during unemployment. Since he's been gone, I have not cleaned this apartment. It's fucking shameful, I know, but I just... blech. I hate it. Don't get me wrong, I've done the bathroom, and I always do the kitchen counters and stove and sink, almost daily. I think I vacuumed once. And dusted, um, not at all. Haven't washed the floor. But really, it shouldn't take me more than three hours to really pull this place apart and give it a good scrubbing. And god knows I've got the three hours. Yet here I sit, planning where I'm going to go today so I don't have to think about it.

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