Right. One room down. 3 and a corridor to go. But I’m done for the day.
I just blitzed my kitchen and threw a load of stuff away. The kitchen is likely the easiest room to do that with. But it’s a proof of concept. And a fair amount of clothing got swept up in the mood. Now I’m sitting in my catastrophe of a living room, on the giant beanbag. Pickle is attempting to claim ownership of my big toe. It’s 11pm on Saturday night and I expect I’ll sink one more night into my bomb-site bedroom before sweeping it into the blitz. Hopefully the mood will still be on me tomorrow. I’ve needed a purge for too long. But it came at a cost.
I was supposed to go out and be social. I was supposed to celebrate a friend’s birthday. But I’m still climbing out of this sad, and the idea of being fun with people is a long way from sounding appealing.
I managed breakfast. I saw an old mate who lives in walking distance. I think most of my conversation was about tidying because I knew I wanted to get cracking and was using breakfast as a procrastination. Then I walked home and did the actual work. I don’t know how I managed to make one room last all day, but I did take every single individual item out, and cleaned and arranged all of it.
I was briefly tempted by the notion of going and hitting Pride, but I didn’t want to leave with the job half done. Plus I didn’t feel very delightful. And since I was obsessively sorting everything in that damn kitchen – (and still not finding the bloody julienne) – I didn’t feel I could leave the house until it was properly finished. Throwing away things sometimes weirdly triggers me. It’s why I don’t do it as often as I should, but I had got myself in a mood where I was good at it and I needed to surf that wave.
And then I remembered the football, so I put it on in the background and inevitably got sucked in. I guess that’s part of the reason I was so slow. Another part is the heat. It’s siesta weather here. And another is the lack of company. I definitely work better when there’s conversation. Alexa and Pickle don’t quite cut it although I had a pleasant interlude with Shirley Manson’s back catalogue and a fair few belly rubbings.
I also phoned a load of random people. One call to Uganda. One to Qatar. One to Egypt. Lots in the UK. People who want accent coaching, mostly. My friend does a brisk trade, and with callbacks etc it seems I have bitten off a little more than I can chew with agreeing to be her secretary for the week, especially considering I’ve agreed to run a load of workshops that I’ve never run before next week. A holiday is beginning to sound really appealing.