Friday, September 30, 2011

What September 28th-30th Mean To Me: Chaos

I'm really bad when I'm out of my routine.  It's not that I don't enjoy the changes, it's just that they stress the fuck out of me and nothing feels "right," even if I'm enjoying the process.

On that note, my week has been a little hectic.  The book was released, I'm incredibly busy with other work, I'm feeding dogs, friends are crashing at my place, all this along with the normal bullshit.  Hell, on Tuesday I forgot to eat dinner! How the fuck did that happen, eating is my thing!  In fact, I actually dropped three pounds this week alone.  And before you mockingly say "oh, poor you, you lost weight, poor you," I don't really need my pants slipping off my waist like molasses.  I am, however, now shoving anything edible (and some things not, like my SmartWater bottlecap that, for some reason, I'm chewing on right now) in my mouth every chance I get. 

Now, most normal people probably take a quick step back and evaluate priorities during really busy times.   After all, there's probably a few things that can wait. But, hmm, haven't really done that.  Writing everything down so that I won't forget anything also is a great idea, but I haven't done that either.  Committing it all to memory?  Please, maybe when I was 18, but now I can't remember shit 3 seconds after you tell me it. 

So, what have I done to combat the problem?

I started making the bed. 

Not my bed

But it's a nice one, and perhaps something to aspire to.  For the record, I never once made my bed at home as a child.  It's not something my parents ever forced me to do, and I never saw the value in it considering all that work would be for naught come night time.  I was, however, forced to make my bed every morning during Jew camp, though I don't really remember being all that good at it, and I definitely struggled with something people called "hospital corners?"  Or something like that.  I've never really been someone you would describe as "neat," and rarely take the extra time of putting stuff back in its place. 

But look at me now, I'm like Martha Stewart.

I'm not sure what inspired me to start making my bed, but I've found it somewhat therapeutic and have admired my own work for a good ten seconds after it's done.  The actual bed probably still looks horrible, I'm sure a seven year old who is a veteran of bed making due to anal retentive parents would probably scoff at it, but it does look like some sort of effort has been made. Regardless, there is something nice about the neatness of a made bed that creates an odd sense of order.

So, I might forget half the shit I need to do over the next couple of weeks because I'm too dumb to write them down, but, well, at least my bed isn't a complete mess. 

1 comment:

  1. It would be no surprise to you that my grandmother is a hospital corner-bed-making Mussalini. If someone else makes her bed (e.g, a cleaning lady who think she's helping) you'll never hear the end of it. My grandmother SWEARS that she can't sleep at night because she can feel all of the inadequacies. It's a mystery that I am somewhat normal.

    I'm with you, I never saw the point in making the bed...