The Focus

You would think that being truly alone in the house for the first time in three months would find me kicking back with a cup of coffee and a book.  Or trashy magazines or some horridly mindless reality show.   And I say truly alone, because in the last three months, the snippets of an hour or two in an empty house do not count.  There was always the promise of crotchfruit returning and dumping their belongings in a heaping pile on the table, in the mudroom, in the living room, and generally whatever open spot they find in the house.  Adding to the pile was the spouse who took a week off work, and though he pitched in here and there on random piles and taking out trash, he does not have THE FOCUS.

THE FOCUS is not on the random cat toys shoved under the couch.  It is not the pile of mail on the kitchen table.  It is not the empty boxes sitting here and there that then get gathered up to create a tower of boxes in the mudroom.  He means well, but as the primary housekeeper around here, he just does not do it MY WAY.

*cue hysterical laughter*

Yes, I'm admitting, I want it done MY WAY.  With MY FOCUS. Because I'm a picky bitch and I own it.  I will even say that I am not a great housekeeper/cleaner.  However, I have my methods, and I want the house cleaned a certain way, so I become an insufferable hag when people help but it's not 110% under my direction and with my style.

Rotten ass bitch that I am.

So, with the hubby off work for the week, and moving the girl child back to college for what she says is the final time, I pretty much ignored everything that would normally be touched in a normal week.  Add in a boss lady who took off for the weekend and working Saturday hours, and I was pretty convinced that I would spend my entire Sunday just cleaning up after everyone.

And there IS cleaning to do.  Men folk, young and old, don't seem to concern themselves too much with why the bathroom smells.  Girl child (I suppose with her about to turn 20 I need to stop calling her that), packed up and left a tornado in her wake.  But I'll get to her room another day, because I have plans for that space...oh yes, the plans are starting to form.  The random piles, messes, and dusting will wait, because there are more pressing matters at hand.

It started with a rug.  That heinous fucking rug.

I had a very large red rug in my living area.  As far as color goes, it was great.  Size however, not so great.  It was large enough that it reached the furniture on either end of the space, and no matter what I did, every time it was walked on, it would bunch up, wrinkle, create humps that the average klutz was guaranteed to trip on.  So, instead of scheming up a way to keep the rug in place, I said fuck you Mr. Rug.  You're outta here.  And upon telling the rug to fuck off, I saw all the stains on the shitastic carpet under the rug.  Stains that were not there when the rug was put down on the floor.

Yes, I am a shitty housekeeper that vacuumed the rug and never checked the floor under it.  Piss off.  That's not the point.

So out came the handy dandy carpet cleaning fixes involving vinegar, dish soap, and an iron.  I don't think it's completely cleaning the shit carpet, but it's fading the glaring spots enough for me to ignore them until I can get a carpet cleaner in here.

BUT, what this first little cleaning project created was a dissatisfied feeling with my furniture placement.  And suddenly wishing for a coffee table.  I do not own a coffee table in this house full of furniture, so I started scanning the rooms wondering what I could use instead.

Voila, there's the chest holding a repro vintage record player.  But it's hubby's record player, and it's not like the thing can just be shoved in a closet, because he loves that thing (and his record collection), and since I love him, I'm not going to be hellacious brat bitch and just toss the thing aside.

This then lead to more scanning of furniture, wondering what I could use to hold the player instead of the trunk that I now want as a coffee table.  And stuck in the corner, covered in dust, behind a folding screen is the uglier than sin small side table holding the printer, modem, and various computer shit I have no name for.  But then, where do I put that?

My head turns to the corner that used to be the zen corner.  USED to be.  Until it became the home of the second desk/table.  It was free, and it's a desk styled like a table so it's multi-use and will be perfect for when girl child has her own place.  It was perfect for girl child the entire summer as she piled endless amounts of girl shit on it.  But with her gone, it's now just holding leftover girl shit that needs to go up to her room and taking space in my glorious zen corner.  So I begin the process of cleaning it off, creating more piles to clean up, and heave ho that fucker across the room.

Restoring zen

And I'm suddenly reminded that one leg of this heavy fucker is about to snap off and needs reinforcing screws put in.  One of those little things I never put on the honey do list because I thought I would remember to just say something about it.  Obviously I didn't.  And now I'm heaving and hefting a very solid table that has one leg attempting to snap off.  And I'm cursing.  Alot.  And realizing sometimes it's not such a great thing to take advantage of being alone in the house, because this would be a hell of a lot easier with someone on the other end of this table attempting to move it without snapping the leg off.  So as I'm muttering and fuckity fuck fuck fucking that bitch into the corner by my desk, I randomly look up to see someone very slowly driving by my front windows and find myself screeching "what the fuuuuuuuck are you looking at fuuuuuuucker?".  And that must have been the final push I needed because I got that bitch where I wanted it.  With a five inch gap from where it sits next to my desk.  Being the OCD eye twitching dumbass, I attempt to heave ho the solid wood desk holding ten years worth of records and every other stupid thing I think I need like a paper collection for all those letters I never get around to writing.  And I fall on my ass because it does NOT BUDGE.

I will have to learn to work with the five inch gap, because even after pulling out drawers, that fat bitch still won't move.  And I briefly consider trying some more, because I've moved this desk before, but the thought of disconnecting all the computer components and emptying the entire thing out is more than I want to do to just have a goddamn coffee table.

Hey, at least I got the vacuum cleaner out and am vacuuming up dust and cobwebs from all these pieces moving around.

Now that the craptastic table is out, I need to dust it off before actually allowing the record player to sit on it, and I realize that it got so dusty because there was always a folding screen in front of it.

The folding screen.

Prized possession #1

Shit.

I have no idea where to put it now.

Getting rid of it is NOT an option.  This thing is hand painted by my late grandmother.  It is a prized possession.    A LARGE prized possession.  Which I'm now realizing was large enough to hide a large portion of the wall as well, so along with having no home for the screen, I also now have a large wall with nothing on it.

Unacceptable.

I think briefly to the large picture hanging above the bed upstairs, and wonder why a picture I adore so much is above the bed, where I can not look at it unless I lay on the bed backwards.  But then there will be a large wall in the bedroom with nothing on it.

Better, except now I don't know if I like the mirror.  Sigh.

I can live with that.

I still need to dust off that craptastic record player table.  So I can dust off the chest once it's empty.  And have a coffee table.

I have a sinking feeling this is going to lead to moving around couches.  Which is yet another conundrum, considering I have yet another corner of the living area that I refuse to touch, but it really is nothing more than unusable space.  That could fit a large folding screen.  However, it also contains the prized possession antique trunk.  Which was also my late grandmother's.  Given to me by my own mother.  I would actually consider burning to death in an effort to pull this thing out of a flaming house.  Which means some furniture placement just will not be able to happen.

Prized possession #2

I believe I need to make more espresso to figure this one out.  Perhaps some Queen on the speakers, because great ideas happen with Freddie Mercury.

GLORIOUS

I'd go sit in the bathroom for inspiration, because great ideas happen while peeing also, but it stinks in there.  I obviously have more important things to clean today.

Maybe I should just leave everything sitting in piles and watch some frivolous reality TV.

What did this posting accomplish?  Introducing YOU, my dear reader, to MY FOCUS.

Which really isn't any focus at all, but makes perfect sense to my caffeine addled brain.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.