Has something ever left your mouth without your permission? No? Shit. Well this happens to me daily. I took my mom (in law) out for coffee after church on Sunday (yes, I'm a cafeteria Catholic thankyouverymuch! You may not have guessed that because of the amount of times per day the word "fuck" leaves my mouth, but you may now stand corrected. A post for another day...). Anywho, I'd been craving an iced coffee for Ishityounot a week and my husband can tell you that if I'm craving something I will bitch about it until I get it no matter how long that takes. So I order a quad venti iced nonfat upsidedown caramel macchiato (wow, I really am from California, aren't I?) and when the girl calls my order and I pick it up she hands it to me and says, "You must have a lot to do today!" Before I even know how to respond my mouth says "Yeah, I need to clean my whole apartment." WTF?!? I didn't okay this plan! Who the fuck told my mouth that my apartment needed to be cleaned? My eyes? Oh. Well then. Now I stand corrected. Well played...
I'm thinking that subliminally I realized that since I had a root canal on Tuesday and subsequently felt like I got FUCKING KICKED IN THE FACE for the past week, my apartment has gone to shit and although my conscious self was refusing to acknowledge that anything was wrong, my subconscious had enough.
So I go to the specialist to have this root canal and he leans the chair back and starts to work on my mouth (that's what she said) when that song "In Your Eyes" comes on. You know the one. Peter Gabriel. Say Anything. Oh yeah. Love that song. And the fucker (the dentist, not Peter Gabriel) starts drilling into my mouth and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY I'M NOT NUMB I'M NOT NUMB PLEASE STOP OH MY GOD!!! My arm shoots up (the agreed upon method of alerting the dentist that you can feel something) and he stops immediately. He then gives me this shot that I shit you not makes me flinch. This is, of course, after he's already given me a million painful shots in the beginning. I'm slightly numb already but it made me fucking FLINCH. Anywho, he starts again, but by this time it's taking all my energy to blink back the tears in my eyes and not sob uncontrollably (I'm already shaking). And Peter Gabriel is still singing, as sweet as can be. Now that sweet memory of cute little John Cusack holding the boom box over his head is forever RUINED by the damn dentist from hell.
*~*END OF SIDE STORY*~*
So I get home and flop down on the couch with my coffee madness and watch some TV for a while, but boredom comes quickly and I start weighing my options. I look at the clock and whatthefuck it's only 11:00! It's too early for wine, even by my standards. Damnit. And then the caffeine starts kicking in, and I remember those horrible words that escaped my mouth in Starbucks... And I look around. Okay: game plan. I need to clean the litterbox. (sigh) I also need to vacuum. I have no more clean bowls so the kitchen needs to be done. I can't see my dining room table, so the mail needs to be sorted. 4 things. No sweat.
Except I have ADD when I clean. Or all the time. Whatever (semantics). So the first thing I do is clean the litterbox, but I can't just scoop, or change the litter, I have to scrub the damn box with disinfectant so that it's CLEAN. Thirty minutes later... I febreeze the carpet in that area and vacuum that corner. A few times. But wait! That's right by the bathroom and I realize that I haven't swept the bathroom floor in forever and the broom is now an outside broom so I sweep with the little broom that goes with the dustpan, but the toilet is dirty, so I clean that (inside and out) and spray the shower down with the cleaner that needs to sit, and start the floor mats in the washer. I vacuum/febreeze another third of the carpet and get to the bookcase and turn the vacuum off. The dvds were all pulled out at one point to load onto hubby's external hard drive for his deployment and so they're all out of whack. So I sit down and alphabetize them. But that leads to dusting the whole bookcase. Which leads to reorganizing the books. Which leads to securing the bookcase to the wall. Which leads to sweeping the patio (because the power drill is in the outside storage closet, off the patio). Which leads to cleaning the end tables (where I set the power drill down). Which leads to cleaning the coffee table. Which leads to moving the coffee table and febreeze/vacuuming under it. Which leads to cleaning the entertainment center thingy. But then I realize the shower is probably ready by now, but the mats need to be moved to the dryer, but I can start the blankets from the living room in the washer. Then I clean the shower. Then the rest of the bathroom. Then wash all the towels. But I step on something on the kitchen floor (laundry is off the kitchen) so I sweep the kitchen floor. Then wash all the bedding. Finish vacuuming the living room, and then give it another full go with the vacuum, just for good measure... By the time I've finished vacuuming, most of the house is clean, I've done like 6 loads of laundry, and it's like 6 pm. And the dining room table is still covered in mail, and I still have no clean bowls. Game plan? What game plan?