Normality of housework

A short post today, and one I feel slightly hypocritical about, as I queried whether David Torrance’s piece in the Herald yesterday had a point and I’m not sure that this has  – but then he gets paid for his waffling, whereas you get to read my ramblings without a paywall.


Anyway, yesterday I got my mojo back, just for a little while. Long enough to tidy the house, change the beds and wash kitchen floor – don’t worry, this isn’t gong to turn into a housework blog.

I appreciated having the energy and drive to tackle the growing mess, but at the same time wondered why cleaning seems to be a sign of feeling better. Is that I’m actually doing something, rather than moping about? And why housework? The house wasn’t horrific, we’ve been generally keeping on top of stuff and I don’t do it all on my own.  There are so many other things I could have done, yet I dived in without a thought and considered it a positive sign.

I have to admit though there was one point – peeling potatoes for Burn’s Night dinner – when I thought “Is this it?!” So much of life is routine, the never ending chores – does the laundry basket even have a bottom? Maybe it’s because I’m not living hand to mouth, not having to fret over major problems that I can get bored or worked up over petty things.

Our landlord apparently has got our block’s boiler fixed today, I have been low-level grumbling for 4 weeks now over not having hot water after lunch time. But looking at it, at least I had hot water in the morning. I’m not saying don’t complain, because that’s when people/organisations/landlords get away with stuff, but maybe I should appreciate that things could be so much worse.

That is how I’ve been all month; things have got me down, part of me thinks it’s no big deal & I should get over it but at the same time there’s another part that asks why I do I have to keep going when others don’t and then finally there’s the bit that wants to stay in bed all day.

Hibernation seems like such a good idea in January, especially on mornings like today when the rain is lashing down. I was lucky in that I knew I had something fun to do at work otherwise I’m not sure I would have got up. I had the joy in splattering chairs.


I’ll never be an artist – or writer – but it is hard to be down when you’re covered in paint.







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