I Am Better Than A Mean Kitty At The Animal Shelter

I think my recent stress is finally affecting me physically. I've been fighting something off for the past few days, and I think that it has picked today as the day to launch is biggest battle with my immune system. I am blaming this on the Fiery One. When he got back from Australia, he started feeling ill, and the day he left for the States he had a fever, so he likely passed along some Aussie variation of the flu or something like that.
I moved through the varying stages of dizziness, weakness, nausea, and mild diarrhoea this morning. Now I seem to be experiencing milder versions of those symptoms plus congested lungs and an itchy throat. It's a joy.
At least I am starting to feel a little better, because the Fiery One is coming home tomorrow, and I have a lot of housework to do before he sets foot in this apartment. It would be easier if I just buckled down and did a little bit every day like normal people, but no, that would be too out of character for me. Instead, my personality dictates that I live like a chimp in the jungle, tossing items and refuse willy nilly as though nature will invade my apartment and take care of it for me. I have a bathroom to scrub down, a kitchen to clean, floors to sweep, garbage to gather and take out, vacuuming to do...
You know, the more I write about what I have to get done to prepare for the arrival of the esteemed Mr. One, the more I am actually looking forward to it. As much as my lazy-assed self allows the grip of squalor to take hold, I do truly enjoy the gleam of chemically stripped white porcelain, the fresh scent of no-rinse floor cleaner, and the warm sudsy water in a sinkload of dishes. (I notice that cleaning involves the use of a lot of chemicals. I will save this worry for later, after I have accomplished my goals for the evening, and then, I am going to look up less physically offensive alternatives).
And since my messiness seems to take up a lot of blog space, maybe I will tell you part of the reason I am this way. I blame my mother. This excuse has been used for ages to excuse all kinds of behaviour, but she is a part of it. Okay, well, she's not at fault for the fact that I continue to indulge such behaviour, but she helped to raise me as someone who rarely thought to lift a finger when it came to housework. When I was a kid, she did it all. She did all the laundry, ironing, dusting, vacuuming, cooking, dishes - everything. Every once in a while she would ask me to set or clear the table, and occasionally she would come into my room and rant about the chaos, but other than that I was never given the impression that anything else was expected of me. In retrospect, I feel badly that she ended up doing all the physical work of keeping our house together, and she probably looks back on those days and worries over this lazy child that she had to cater to for years and years. Honestly, if she would have asked me to do some stuff around the house, I would have, but she silently martyred herself, and I sailed ignorantly along, unaware and detached as I became increasingly self-involved in my battle with late-onset puberty.
This sort of reminiscence makes me wonder what overtakes me when I think that I would like to have a child / children. I was completely ungrateful for all the work that she did, I deemed her life experience as utterly lacking any point of contact with mine, and now I rarely call and visit only once every three months. I do remember all the special occasions like anniversaries and birthdays and religious holidays, but really, if you could shop for your offspring like you do for kittens at the humane society, would you pick the one that barely looked in your direction and possibly hissed, or would you pick the one that tried to cuddle with you through the bars and cried plaintively for your affection?
Aw, see, now I have painted myself as someone that not even I would pick out if I found myself looking sad at the animal shelter. I'm really in a bind now. That was a terrible analogy. Look, let’s forget it. I have jumped from feeling slightly ill to more boring crap about cleaning my apartment to my mother’s influence on my lack of housekeeping habits to what an awful daughter I am. I must make this better. Here is a list of things that are good about me at this point in time:
  • I have taken to writing poetry again, and I am not being all self-defeatist about it.
  • I have been calling my parents semi-regularly for the past several weeks, and they have noticed the change in our level of communication and appreciate my efforts.
  • I have been more social lately, which is a good thing, because I often tend to coccoon.
  • People like me, they do, at least for the most part.
  • I can cook a really mean soup.

    Before I head on to the news and other links, I have to thank all those who contacted me to see how I was doing after the disappointing news about my job. Knowing that people give a good goddam has put me in a much better place.

    What does your phone number spell?

    Bush Claimed Right to Waive Torture Laws

    Because I am a Louise Erdrich fan, read this.

    There has been another beheading in Iraq.

    Terror attacks have increased since the “war on terror” began, not decreased

    A class action suit against Wal-Mart for discrimination against women will now proceed.

    I have never found a story about a whale so moving.

  • More On The Grandma Front

    Woe Is Me, Good Soup, And My Grandma's Sick