Yesterday I put in several solid hours of work on the house, mostly outside. Cleaned up the deck, carried out loads of trash-- How can a house accumulate so much trash, with just one old woman and a cat living in it? Maybe houses ought to be phased out; they're beginning to take on a life of their own, collecting junk against the wishes of their occupants. I also called a guy about cutting the grass, did three loads of laundry, and then collapsed. Plans for today are much the same, but I ought to be writing.
When I'm writing, I think I ought to be cleaning, and vice-versa. I do have an idea for a story, somehow involving Charlotte Corday. Girondins, Montagnards. Marat, Robespierre. Corday was a Leo, born on July 27th. Maybe she's just a ghost at Graymont, sometimes carrying her head under her arm. But that has been done. Maybe a story will develop--but I suspect the only time a story develops is when someone sits down and starts writing it.
Anyway, in March I decided that April will be cleaning month. "April is the cruellest month...."
2 comments:
I used to could clean my whole house on a Saturday morning. It sounds unbelievable now, but I did. Bathrooms, floors, laundry, and all.
We didn't used to be rich enough to have so much junk.
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