If you saw my house, that's what you would say. Seriously. It's what I say every day.
Somehow, I got out of any kind of routine cleaning practice when Ken was sick. I tried to keep the area where he was tidy, because I knew it made him feel better. But I have a sense that in the last 18 months a huge wave has washed over us, the dogs, and the house and swirled around and around. Now, I think it has finally withdrawn, and it's left all manner of detritus in its wake, just scattered randomly about.
I have an uncanny facility, in such situations, to stop seeing the mess. It's as if a selective blindness comes over me and I don't perceive the things that are out of place, that need to be scrubbed, that disrupt the potential peace and sanity of our living space.
You may wonder why I'm not pointing any fingers at Ken...well, it's because almost none of this stuff is his. It's mine. And I would be very unhappy indeed if he went about sorting, disposing of, or otherwise messing with it.
I want to do differently. I want to dig out, and stop living in what FLYLady calls CHAOS (that stands for "Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome.") For some reason, I'm having a really hard time getting started with this.
But, if people who got knocked over and swamped by Hurricane Sandy, Hurricane Katrina, or the tsunami in Asia can get up and start somewhere, surely I can, too.
I have a week off at Christmas...before I leave for a very special wedding. So you may find me clawing to the surface, one baby step at a time.
I'll keep you posted.