My morning task today is to file the bills and paperwork that's been piling on top of the file cabinet for months and months (plus a secret cache in between the armoire and cabinet where I hastily stuffed a pile of paper in a whirl of some speed cleaning before a party) drag it all onto the floor so I can sort it, then I look at the top of the cabinet and it’s dusty so I move the plant that lives there and dust it and then I'm thinking a sarong or scarf would look cute draped over it to cover up the worn area that got ruined by water spillage from overwatering the plant once or twice – water on wood, no good, no good – so I walk over towards the closet area where the scarves and the sarongs are and I see a little dust devil peeking out from underneath the bed so I stop and grab it and then I get down on my belly to look and realize that it really needs a thorough dust mopping under the bed and maybe I should add cleaning the house to my list of chores today, and I wonder if there’s a better place to store the LED hula hoop, but I carry the little devil to the bathroom trash can then I get distracted by my bangs for a minute in the mirror because they look like Mr. Peabody’s and/or Sherman’s then turn around and realize I haven't had any of the coffee that I poured a while ago that is now in the cup on top of the clean filing cabinet, so I have a big swig and look at the backyard through the sliders and the cat is moonwalking in front of the door inside barfing. I struggle with the Kleenex box (if you can call it a ‘box’ because it’s cylindrical…can you?) because they came in a set of three and very cleverly fit into the cup holders of the car but I ran out of Kleenex for the bathroom the other day so grabbed one of these and have been mauling them ever since trying to get them out of the ‘box.’ I get a couple tissues, clean up the barf, roll up the rug to put in the laundry basket which isn't there because it's in the basement where there may just possibly be wet laundry stinking of neglect. The laundry is dry and survives the sniff test so I haul it all up, and now there is a mountain of clothes, sheets and the tips of two dark cat ears on my bed whispering: “Fold us!” (the laundry not the cat, of course) to me sitting in front of my pile of paperwork. I sort the papers into piles in a semi-circle around myself, legs splayed and bare feet and toes wiggling to some inner song and see that I still have remnants of sparkly teal polish on several toe nails from that pedicure I had back in September and decide I will remove at least one distraction, but realize the alcohol wipe I'm using just ruined the edge of my thumb nails that I painted last night on a whim with sample polish (in the exact shade of purple of the chaise lounge!) that I got from my Buy Nothing Project group in an Ipsy bag, (which was what I really wanted – the bag) which I’d never heard of but it had all these hair and make-up samples in it and I was selected because the giver asked for funny memes or stories to help her make her selection and out of 55 people I was the only one who wrote a story—using all the product names and descriptions, which was pretty clever if I do say so myself:
Product Placement: Octavio kicked the colorful Fallen Leaves on the trail down to the Balm(y) Brazilian beach. The bright lights and City Color behind him, he walked barefoot in the sand as he waited to Meet Matt Hughes who promised to divulge to him “My Amazing Hair Secret.” Before him hundreds of Jelly Pong Pong fish swam in the surf, their tendrils shining like gossamer. He waited for hours and must have Dose(d) off, as when he opened his eyes he was startled to see a brilliant Novex streaming across the matte black sky.
I've also discovered through the stinging of alcohol on my finger pad that I have a splinter or miniature puncture wound, so I go get the magnifying glass (with a carved bone handle that we bought in an antique store in Portland years ago on a wonderful get-away/foodie fest/shopping spree) for closer examination and see no splinter but do see I did a total crap-job on polishing my nails and blow it off because no one’s going to be looking at them with a freakin’ magnifying glass after all, but now that I’ve put it out into the Interether I can predict kindly-disguised comments in the near future on how they don’t look that bad, or worse, confirmation of their sloppiness, but I like them anyway because they’re all purple and shiny, and a little bit punk. After finally finishing the filing, I decide I’ll take a picture of my nails on the couch, so take a squeegee I have for the sole purpose of spot-cleaning the couches but in my over-zealous raking break the handle. I fix the handle, take the photo and wonder when my hands started looking so old. They're still good for filing, working around the house and writing, though.
RSS Feed