Confessions of a sub-par housekeeper: My kitchen is as cluttered as my mind

I had delusions of grandeur this weekend for writing.  Big, grandiose plans of sitting down in front of the laptop and getting crazy amounts of chapters accomplished. 

Here’s what happened instead: HBO free preview weekend. 

I watched The Dark Knight Rises twice.  I demanded to know why Christian Bale is hanging up the cowl and Ben Affleck is taking his place.  The Hubs suggested maybe Christian Bale is holding out for a Newsies reunion.  Maybe.  I have a feeling he’s too much of a professional these days to burst out into a rousing rendition of “King of New York.” 

And then this happened: We decided to formally start potty training The Preschooler (formally known as The Toddler), which was horrifying and traumatic for all parties involved.   

Despite this, I managed to finish up chapter four of Random Contemporary and firmly start chapter five.  I’m actually giddy over that, since I kind of expected my excitement over Random Contemporary to fizzle out like a sparkler.  Like a sparkler dipped in water and then shoved in a pile of sand.  Nevertheless, we’re trucking right along and if I wasn’t so distracted this weekend, I probably would have gotten more written. 

But one giant, gaping maw stood in my way.  Besides Batman and free HBO.  My house needs cleaned. 

And when I say cleaned, what I mean is it needs to look less like a dorm room and more like a house actual, reasonable adults live in. 

For starters, we’ve lived there since, I don’t know, like 2008.  A cat lived there briefly.  The Preschooler’s bedroom floor smells faintly of hamster litter, which perpetually astounds me because, yes, we had a hamster.  But it died before we bought the house.  I remember quite clearly, because it was the day after Thanksgiving and we literally had a funeral for him in my mother’s back yard.  Yes.  I realize that’s weird.  Maybe not when you’re eight, but I was like, twenty-three.  Weird.  Anyway, I don’t know what the floor in his room smells like, but to me it smells like hamster litter.  Which…is probably better than things it could smell like. 

Anyway, so, last week The Hubs and I thoroughly cleaned the living room carpet.  Literally only hours later, The Preschooler and The Toddler (formerly known as The Baby) thought it was hilarious to grind meatloaf into the carpet, then trail milk from one end of the room to the other.

 This week we’ve given up on clean carpets. 

Last week I scrubbed—and I mean scrubbed—the bathroom.  This week I put some things in the closet and called it a day. 

The majority of my time was spent hanging pictures on the wall.  Okay, three pictures, but seeing as how I’ve been meaning to hang one of them up for two years, it was time I stopped saying, “Meh, maybe I’ll paint first” and just slapped them up on the wall.  One might be crooked.  

In the end, my house just looks lived in.  There’s baby food squash stains on the living room ceiling from where The Toddler went a tad bit out of control when he was six months old.  Is there a chance someone lost a waffle in the living room?  Maybe. Will my little woodland shanty ever be featured in Better Homes and Gardens?  No.  But it’s home.  As long as I don’t find anymore petrified potatoes underneath the china cupboard, I consider it winning. 

So, yeah, I’ll put off deep cleaning the sliding glass door track in lieu of family time and writing.  I toyed around with actual titles for Random Contemporary this weekend.  I got nothing.  Nothing but sarcasm and double entendres which, though hilarious, probably aren’t the way to go.  I hate titling my books.  That’s another reason I never came up with a penname, because I’m too indecisive and get stuck on stupid things like, “Paige Turner” which again, though hilarious, isn’t the way to go. 

So for now, Random Contemporary will remain known as Random Contemporary.  I just see it as race with myself: will I finish the book first or title it first?  This is it in the good time department for me guys, please.  I’m at the height of my boring-ness right now.  I’m trying to live vicariously through my characters, but man, when I stopped writing last night the main character was standing in a parking lot.  Just standing there.  In a parking lot.  Granted, it was markedly more than I did yesterday, but still. 

See?  Throw me into a contemporary time period instead of historical and I leave these poor characters in parking lots. 

7 Comments

  1. I am having the opposite problem: I’m moving from contemporary to historical writing. And instead of a parking lot, my characters are stuck in a flooded out village in Mexico in 1773. Without cell phones. I think the moral of the story is that at least we have characters, and if they’re stuck somewhere, at least they won’t run off and desert us. Guess they’ll just have to wait until we find the time to come save them.

    1. It’s true! Maybe it’s less of being “stuck,” but more of a crossroads. I once read that it’s a good thing to stop writing in the middle of an exciting scene, because it will prompt you right back into the writing mindset when you pick up again. I have a habit of writing like I read: “Oh, this is a good stopping place.” Or I just fall asleep, ha ha. That happen way too much!

  2. Dear “Paige Turner,”

    I recommend watching an episode of Hoarders and your house will instantly look spotless. That’s what I do.

    Also, Ben Affleck isn’t exactly taking Christian Bale’s place since Ben will be playing Batman in a Superman movie, not a Batman movie. I know this because I’m a nerd. 🙂

    1. So…it’s more of an alternate universe Batman? I can be comfortable with that. I adore Christian Bale’s Batman, namely because he’d just *this* side of getting all “American Psycho” on someone. And besides. Joseph Gordon-Levitt is his Robin and that literally was every dream come true for me. I adore JGL. Mad adore JGL.

      Side note: Ben Affleck will always be the manager of “Casual Male” to me.

      And finally, in other Batman related commentary, I literally cheered when my alterego Anne Hathaway hooked up with Bruce Wayne at the end. The Hubs insists they didn’t hook up. I refuse to agree. They were made for each other.

  3. Look on the bright side: at least the mess is out where you can see it. My husband’s idea of ‘tidying up’ is to pile all the mess into a cupboard and slam the door. Then I come along and open the door, and there’s this sort of clattering roar as STUFF slides out like a slag heap engulfing a small Welsh village… It’s just not safe.

    And if your characters are stuck in a parking lot, then at least they’re near civilisation. They can go into whatever is attached to the parking lot and phone for a taxi (cab).

    1. Happily, I retrieved her from the parking lot and hustled her into a restaruant. Not so happily is the fact the motivations of her gentleman companion are…actually yet to be determined. At least I have a starting point when I pick up writing.

      I, too, have a nasty tendency to just close cupboard doors and hope for the best. It’s most notable in the “cooking” cupboard and often in the freezer. There’s nothing worse than an avalanche of frozen, chopped onions and green peppers. Hubby says I’m setting him up for failure. I told him I’m just making putting the dishes away a crazy, fun adventure!

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