THEY REALLY SHOULD MAKE PILLS FOR THIS...EPISODE SEVENTY-FOUR

I promise you, Dearies, that if I live to be a thousand years old, I will never figure myself out.

As you might know from reading this here blog, I have a propensity to swing between comatose and weeping, to manic and running around with my hair on fire. The is just NO IN BETWEEN with me. Never was, never shall be.

I also have the propensity to OBSESS over stuff to the point of distraction. Again, no sense of dipping my toe or taking baby steps on anything I'm worried about or need to do. It's ALL IN, Baby!

This morning started with me in the Happy Chair wringing my hands over the state of CS2, my hair situation (both thinning and facial), soot damage, a clogged drain, an out of date planner, Mount Laundry, and various and other sundry things. I wrang and wrang and wrang my hands until they were raw, but despite this, not one magic elf showed up to fix my life for me.

Damn magic elves.

So I did what an self-loathing/respecting spinster would do. I got paper and pencil and started listing all of the crap buzzing around in my tiny little brain that has been threatening to make me forget both my middle name and Social Security number.

(I operate on the Kelly Bundy method -- for every new thing that enters my brian, at least one old thing has to come out because there's just not a lot of room in there.)

The apartment situation is basically this: I would like it to be as clean and sterile as an operating room in here, but I just don't have the physical wherewithal to do this anymore. The days of being able to scrub a house from top to bottom like an Amish woman are just over for me. Period. I have tried and tried and tried to pretend like it isn't so, but the fact of the matter is that I am just not physically well enough (at this moment) to he able to clean my own house anymore.

Why this completely mortifies me is beyond comprehension, since I have, on more than one occasion, begged friends and family to hire help, since I knew they were struggling. I have absolutely zero judgement of anybody who employs a cleaning lady, but I somehow missed the part of the equation in which it's OK for ME to do so,

My first concern was the expense. I am on a ridiculously tight budget and am trying my very very best to use my resources as well as I can. I gave up the salon and other fun things in an effort to be more careful, but I think I have finally come to the conclusion that shifting some dollars to a cleaning company is not a luxury at this point...it is a necessity.

So I waived the white flag of surrender and the Cottage Care crew will be here on Friday.

This, of course, meant that I had to do something about that drain, so I high tailed it into the bathroom and fixed it. Just sat myself down on the side of the tub and got my Dollar Store gizmo out and unclogged that drain like I knew what I was doing,

Done.

Then, because I was there, I grabbed the Mr Clean and the sponges and spray bubbles and brushes and whatnot and I cleaned that damn bathroom to within an inch of its life in some kind of trance that was mixed with fury and shame that it had been allowed to get that far onto my last nerve.

From there, I sorted and started laundry and then I planted myself at the dining room table with my planner and I went to town, I glued and stickered and wrote and decorated and pasted until it was finally in order and all of my appointments and to-dos and lists and other little Post-Its were in their right place.

You would think that this would have been enough to get me calmed down, but before I knew what was really happening, the Christmas decorations were down and put away....with the exception of the three little lit trees that are going to stay right where they are with their little happy lights twinkling at me in the evenings.

Next Tuesday I'm going to get my damn hair cut and my damn face waxed and I'm going to do my level best to keep up with it because I know that if I do so it will make me feel better about myself.

The hardest part of all of this has been the conversation in my head about indulgence, being spoiled, guilt, slacking, being frivolous, etc. But I have to confess that there is a small part of me that says "Hang on just a minute. You have some majorly big stuff going on right now that you need to focus on. Going to and getting through dialysis and taking care of yourself physically should be your only priority right now. And if doing that means you need to off-load every other thing flitting about your brain, then you need to do so. You're not being lazy or selfish or stupid...you're being healthy and smart. And, when you get a new kidney and you are physically able to do so, you can go right back to being a maniac and stress over the smallest and dumbest of things. Right now...you do not have the luxury of doing that. Enough."

Isn't it a shame that the advice I would give my best friend never seems like advice I could give myself? Like I'm not worthy of the same acceptance and encouragement I would extend to a stranger?  Hmmmmm. More things to ponder with Dr, Melfi.

So.

I am now sitting in the Happy Chair feeling organized and in control and peaceful. The big hard things that were bothering me are now tamed. The soot damage will be remedied with the cleaning service and eventually by an upholstery cleaning company, and I will save up for some battery operated candles that I can enjoy them without worry. The hair situation will be fixed with Misses Brandi and Jenn and their expert skills, and I will make an effort to apply a little lipstick every now and then to remind myself that I am, in fact, a woman.

JB is ready for a bite to eat, so I suppose I should close for now. Thank you for indulging my insanity, Dearies. Please be gentle with yourself...I know I'm going to try.