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Monday, March 18, 2013

Death by Dust

I have never seriously considered suicide. My thoughts run more to jumping a tramp steamer and heading for parts unknown as a constructive alternative. But I may have unwittingly signed my own death warrant by precipitating this break up, because the mechanics of the whole thing is slowly killing me. Years of neglected dust bunnies are coming home to roost, so to say. Mixed metaphor? So shoot me - put me out of my misery. I don't know if it's the dust mites, or the physical labour, or just the burden of knowing I have been at the crossroads of lazy & depressed so long that I had just about buried myself. 

At times I have been a wee bit envious of H who gets to move to a newly upgraded little house and start from scratch, but that is a fleeting thought that quickly disipates into the ether. Mostly I would like to end up with my own little house feeling spacious and clean and well organized.

Which brings me to this morning and not being able to find the laundry I had folded last night. I had indulged in watching an episode of shameless, the Showtime series which at one point in my life annoyed the hell out of me but which lately I am finding hilarious. I was up at 5am, wrote a bit here, then made tea and laughed at the TV until almost 7. Which gave me 15 minutes to get my shit together and out the door to work. Having showered yesterday post all the sweat and dust and chalk that the day was filled with, I knew I just needed to throw on my clothes and pack some left overs for lunch and I would be good. But the stack of clothes that actually fits me right now was nowhere to be found. I finally  pulled on the jeans I swore I wouldn't wear again because they are falling down big and headed to work. This evening I found everything neatly stacked in a tub in the living room - one that I had been sorting into for items that would eventually find their way to the wardrobe in my bedroom. Of course first I have to unpack the plethora of mending and mementos that are currently filling up that space. You get the picture.

I was sore before ever reaching work this morning from all the work yesterday, and I was hurting fairly badly upon arriving home. Ice, shoulder massage pad (best present from H ever) and Ibuprofen gave me the boost I needed to get my two boxes done for the day. But I am more and more tired each day and with each new dust patch I clean up I feel like I am inhaling a little death. I know I will survive this ordeal, but I am wishing pretty hard to be able to twitch my nose like Jeannie and have done with it.

What a sorry sack I am. And mood is still stable despite all my bitching and wailing. I'm guessing it's good for me to be up off my fat a$$ for a change. And with that I am off for a glass of red to clear my throat.

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