Post by tjaman on Jan 29, 2007 11:47:45 GMT -5
So this weekend, while difficult, ended up feeling incredibly productive, which is nice, because I've sort of been worried in a mildly disinterested way about myself.
I got my floors done.
For the first time since November, I think -- and I know I was only mailing it in then -- my kitchen floor got swept and mopped and then mopped again. And I mopped the bejabbers out of my bathroom, too.
Which tired me out. I mean, I was mostly out of it on Saturday, but I was able to soak my foot and keep it elevated and by the end of the day it was feeling much better than my head and my throat. I was feeling much better by Sunday morning but I stayed in and puttered about. By Sunday evening, I'd cleared off my kitchen table, I'd mopped my floors, and I was all ready to vacuum the living room but I was just spent.
Not only that, but my laundry was waiting to be done, too, and I was on the fence about whether to do it or to let it sit for another week (I have just enough clothes to go comfortably for two weeks without doing laundry, but I don't like to) and I decided at the last minute I was going to.
More than walking (which I didn't do -- 11 miles last week was, as it turned out, plenty good enough), more than weight loss or gain, this, to me, is the breakthrough I've been waiting for, I think, in this whole taking anti-depressants thing.
There was a time in my life when this is what weekends were for. I'd wake up Saturday morning and switch on NPR and putter about in my home until it looked like no one actually lived there, which was a goal. When Monday morning rolled around my apartment would be clean and swept and shaken out and a pleasure to come home to.
For the past year, I think, I have mostly ignored my floors. And many times before that my kitchen table has been piled over with papers and things that needed going through and packed away and gotten rid of. And that happened occasionally, but not all the time.
So being able to take a bucketful of hot bleach water and scrub out the corners and the cobwebs and address the casual decay of neglect was an inordinately healing experience.
Like I said, I still have to vacuum. After mopping, I actually had to lie down for a few minutes before doing laundry and again before heading over to rehearsal. And it's not perfect because nothing is perfect. I think I could have a month uninterrupted in my apartment and not get to everything I'd want to get to.
But dammit, I've reclaimed my floors. And this a.m. I got all my laundry put away. Over my lunch break I'm going home and cleaning my fishbowl. And I'm all set up to head out for a walk when I get home tonight.
And really, with any luck at all, I will be able to maintain this level of acceptability from here on out.
I've ... really missed this part of myself.
I may (fingers crossed) even be able to start writing again next weekend.
I got my floors done.
For the first time since November, I think -- and I know I was only mailing it in then -- my kitchen floor got swept and mopped and then mopped again. And I mopped the bejabbers out of my bathroom, too.
Which tired me out. I mean, I was mostly out of it on Saturday, but I was able to soak my foot and keep it elevated and by the end of the day it was feeling much better than my head and my throat. I was feeling much better by Sunday morning but I stayed in and puttered about. By Sunday evening, I'd cleared off my kitchen table, I'd mopped my floors, and I was all ready to vacuum the living room but I was just spent.
Not only that, but my laundry was waiting to be done, too, and I was on the fence about whether to do it or to let it sit for another week (I have just enough clothes to go comfortably for two weeks without doing laundry, but I don't like to) and I decided at the last minute I was going to.
More than walking (which I didn't do -- 11 miles last week was, as it turned out, plenty good enough), more than weight loss or gain, this, to me, is the breakthrough I've been waiting for, I think, in this whole taking anti-depressants thing.
There was a time in my life when this is what weekends were for. I'd wake up Saturday morning and switch on NPR and putter about in my home until it looked like no one actually lived there, which was a goal. When Monday morning rolled around my apartment would be clean and swept and shaken out and a pleasure to come home to.
For the past year, I think, I have mostly ignored my floors. And many times before that my kitchen table has been piled over with papers and things that needed going through and packed away and gotten rid of. And that happened occasionally, but not all the time.
So being able to take a bucketful of hot bleach water and scrub out the corners and the cobwebs and address the casual decay of neglect was an inordinately healing experience.
Like I said, I still have to vacuum. After mopping, I actually had to lie down for a few minutes before doing laundry and again before heading over to rehearsal. And it's not perfect because nothing is perfect. I think I could have a month uninterrupted in my apartment and not get to everything I'd want to get to.
But dammit, I've reclaimed my floors. And this a.m. I got all my laundry put away. Over my lunch break I'm going home and cleaning my fishbowl. And I'm all set up to head out for a walk when I get home tonight.
And really, with any luck at all, I will be able to maintain this level of acceptability from here on out.
I've ... really missed this part of myself.
I may (fingers crossed) even be able to start writing again next weekend.
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alone.
