Time to Pay

I am enjoying my first "normal" morning in over three weeks.  Round two of espresso sits steaming in front of me, my favorite playlist is blasting from the speakers, and I find myself A-L-O-N-E.

Alone.  What a glorious word.  I'm sure there are some, who perhaps love to wallow in misery, would find such a statement horrendous and inconceivable.  But, considering the state of my affairs, I am embracing this solitude, and were it a physical thing, I would wrap my arms around it and squeeze the shit out it and never let go.

I NEED my solitude.  That moment of turning up the volume because there's no one else to care (other than a FatBastard lounging somewhere in this ice box of a house).  And when I don't have that solitude, when the house bustles with activity, I tend to go slightly insane.  I don't even notice the insanity slowly creeping up on me, until I start waking in the morning with that dull, familiar ache in my face.  The sore spots, just to the front of my ears.  The incessant clenching of the jaw that I am not even aware I do, until my face is aching like a dull throbbing tooth.  Thankfully, I don't grind my teeth, just a constant clench that results in an ache eerily similar to a too long session in a dentist chair.

The holidays brought a girl child home.  Though at 20, I suppose I cannot call her a child anymore.  But does a grown woman actually leave bobby pins in the shower?  Does an adult borrow her mother's super duper (and expensive) hairspray and then leave it in her room?  Would a grown woman actually let her mother search every basket, cubby, and hidey hole in the bathroom looking for said hairspray while she sleeps the peaceful slumber of the innocent?

On the flipside, I enjoyed having another female in the house again, because being outnumbered can wear on a person.  She was my partner in trashy TV, overruling the need for movies that involve machetes, wannabe cowgirls, and fast cars.  She gave me a "look" each time we heard a strange noise emitting from the boy cave, and was my partner in the rolling of the eyes.

Now, with her gone, I'm left with a scattering of bobby pins, and an ever growing accumulation of boy mess.

I suppose the mess is not helped by my lack of participation in all things considered "home".  There was absolutely no Suzy Homemaker to be found through my bout with that lovely plague that invaded, and by the time I started to feel even vaguely human, it was time to dive head first into a work obsession like no other.  As long as the espresso beans kept flowing, I was considering my job at home complete.  No laundry has been touched, my refrigerator is a condiment buffet, and Christmas decorations still sparkle in every corner.

Though the sparkle is dulled by the accumulating dust.

So, in my solitude this morning, I see the bins sitting near the back door.

The Christmas bins.

Waiting to be filled.

Sigh.

After five days of purge and rebirth at the store, I am in a purge state of mind.  A state of mind that says TOSS IT ALL.  Start over from scratch.  Which is of course, ludicrous considering the deep love affair I have with so much of my Christmas decorations.  But it doesn't even stop at the Christmas decor.  I look around and think maybe minimalist is the way to go.  After all, do I really need a collection of candles and candle holders that could light up the entire six square blocks of this town?  The faux flowers in vases are nothing more than collectors of dust and cobwebs, and considering my aversion to dusting, it's pretty silly that I hang on to such things.

I know it's just the whiner in me, because once I start getting all things holly jolly stored away, I will relish putting my house back together to it's original state.  But considering the arctic blast zone going on outside, I may just leave a few sparkly things in place.

I'll know when I start.  Which doesn't appear to be happening any time soon.  Because goddammit, I finally have some solitude, and it seems such a waste to blow these hours actually doing something akin to work.

Rudolph is mocking me.  Cheeky little bastard.  Maybe I'll brave the elements and punt his ass out the door.

Maybe I'll just continue to sit my ass on this chair enjoying that quickly cooling cup of dark, silky goodness.

I could light a match and burn it all.  At least I'd be warm.

Have I mentioned I'm allergic to fake pine?  Yup, I need to go find my long gloves just so I can carefully take every last stupid ornament off the tree.  Unless I'd like to look like I have welts up to my shoulders.

Burn it.

Burn it all.

Perhaps some Nine Inch Nails will be the proper motivational music to get this chore underway.

Perhaps I should stop rambling like a fool on this blog and find out.

Perhaps.