In all actuality, I wish I could be more like Joan Crawford. (“Who doesn’t beat their kids?”–Evie Harris) At least as she was portrayed by Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest. Because then I’d have a clean house.
There was a time in my life–a very unhappy time–when I kept an immaculate house. Now I just have a lived-in house. VERY lived in. Now I do what I can do when I can do it. When I’m writing, things go untended. Which is bad, because if they go too untended, I can’t write. I can ignore the layer of dust on top of the refrigerator, since I can’t see it, but if things get cluttered and I can see the clutter, I start getting edgy.
Since I’ve hit another writing block (not writer’s block, which I don’t believe in, but just a point when I have to mull things over for a while), I figure it’s time to deal with some of those jobs left undone. Bank statements. Filing away last year’s paperwork. Sending out those cards for January birthdays that have passed. (Sorry.) Finishing my fourth quarter tax stuff in preparation for turning over one of life’s messiest jobs to the accountant. Trying to figure out where the hell that iTunes gift card is. (Do those things expire?)
I’m giving myself three hours to get my house in order.
Just look at Margot, Guiness and River and tell them, “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the dirt!”
Just remember you have a friend that looooves to organize! If you want some help arranging the clutter into labeled, color coordinated containers (stacked in ascending order by size, of course)… you know where to fine me. =)
P.S. – friggin’ love that movie!