The power of positive cleaning

First off, thanks to all of you for all the nice things you said to cheer me up. It really meant the world to me. I was in SUCH a HORRENDOUSLY bad mood the week I wrote that last post. Just ask Tim. Or George. Or my mom. They can all testify that I was in a multi-day state of rage that could not be calmed. Not even with chocolate & red meat. It was ... unpleasant. I was the Queen of the Grumpy Gusses that week. It's a good thing that the Queen of the Grumps does not traditionally wield a scepter because, lemmee, tell ya, I would have felt a strong urge to use it on others in a most violent & un-lady-like manner. Much carnage would have ensued.

There were soooooo many things that brought out the rage in me that week. Some of it was the phase of the moon. Some of it was money issues. But most of it was probably because I felt totally powerless & worthless. A number of things have contributed to that feeling. Probably the thing that sums it up best is the state of our lawn.
Leaves.
Leaves everywhere.
I estimate that this month I have spent about 7 hours raking, vaccuming, & mulching leaves on our little patch of earth. As soon as I'm done, the wind blows or the rain starts and more leaves fall & I feel like I have to start all over again. It's maddening! I can spend hours working on the yard, but when Tim comes home from work, he can't tell that I've done the slightest thing. It's a soul-crushing endeavor. And it isn't just the leaves, either. There are other things in my life that I've been working on & working on & I have very little to show for all of my hard work. It's so infuriating to work and work and work and work and see NOTHING for all of your efforts. It has made me feel so weak and powerless. I couldn't stand it.

I had to do something that would give me the gratification of a job well done. Something fairly inexpensive since I'm trying to be frugal, as well as something that wouldn't be ruined within hours of completion.

So I cleaned out our bedroom closet. A small gesture? Perhaps to some. To others it is much more.

The truth is that I am the messy one in our house. That's why it's fair that I clean up most of the messes. One of our biggest messes was our bedroom closet. Ninety-eight percent of the stuff in there belongs to me & none of it was in any semblance of order. Sure, a number of items hung neatly on the rods, but there were also bags & boxes full of clothing & shoes & paperwork & craft supplies that I hadn't set sight on since we lived in Tulsa. But no more! I took out every random item, & organized EVERYthing. The clothes are categorized & arranged by color. It's truly a thing of beauty. It also made me realize that I have a very limited color pallet. Everything I wear is black, blue, purple, or pink. Gotta work on that.

I told my mom that the progress in the closet has made me feel much better. She isn't convinced, though. Mom suspects that my whimpers of powerlessness are all a front. She thinks I am much more powerful than I seem. She is convinced that I have my eye on world domination ... that I am concocting evil plans up in our attic. She suspects that I am actually creating cyborg cats which I will somehow get into the homes of world leaders across the globe. Much like my Millie kitty, these cats will be sweet and cuddly and round & impossible to resist. One day - according to my mother - I will send out a coordinated signal to these cyborg cats, ordering them to hop up on the laps of the most powerful people of the world, forcing those people into a state of feline paralysis, where they cannot get up or move lest they disturb their beloved kitty cats. And then! Yes then! The world shall be at my command!!!! Mwah-ha-ha-haaaaaa!

Of course, now that you know my plans, I'll be forced to kill you all. Blame my momma.

Ready for my close-up

No, not dead. Just frustrated & sad and bleeeeeeeeeeeh. Bleh blah bloo. That's me.

Still haven't worked out the problem with posting photos. Grrr.

I'm kinda turning into a shell of my former self. Just like george, I watched "Sunset Boulevard" on the old movie channel a few days ago. Now I'm convinced that I'm turning into Norma Desmond. I stay in the house all the time & occasionally talk about the good ol' days when I was a STAR! of the theatrical STAGE! and such. Granted, Tim is not my butler & I don't have photographs of myself plastered all over the house. Plus, Liz can pull off the Norma Desmond eyes far better than I ever could. But you know what I mean.

It's not that I was ever a paragon of self confidence or anything, but at least there have been times in the past when I managed to (1.) figure out what I wanted and (2.) went out & got it. Now I'm not sure what I want, so I don't know what I should get. Do I miss theatre? Yes and no. That's partly why I haven't made any real attempts at joining a theatrical group here. Plus I don't have any theatre friends here. No one who can hook me up with a good group. No one to go to auditions with me. No one to really encourage me to do this thing. Yes, there are people we know who say, "You should audition for a play, Mary". But it feels empty because they don't understand what's involved. It's like those people who hear me talk about how we'd like to go back to England and then say, "Well then, you should just go!". Meanwhile, they have no clue how much such a trip would cost or the miserable exchange rate or how much vacation time Tim has left (answer: none), etc. It's all just pleasant platitudes with no real substance. "You should audition for a play!" Sure. And you should go to the moon.

I'm suffering from a very third-world problem. I know this. I have fallen into extremely fortunate circumstances & I understand that. Some people tell me that I am their hero ... a comment that instantly puts wrinkles between my eyebrows. Yes, I live in a cute house in a cute neighborhood with a cute husband and a cute cat where I cook cute food and watch the cute leaves fall from our cute trees. But what does any of this have to do with me? Please forgive me for the cliche I am about to utter, but Who Am I, Anyway? When I meet people at parties and they ask me what I do ... well, I don't do anything, so I don't know what to say. I don't want to tell anyone I am a housewife because they'll assume I am a boring, empty soul who is not worth time or effort. And maybe there's some truth in that, but I don't want the world to know it. So when I meet people, I make a point of steering the conversation a bit just to ignore that little question. I want people to realize that I have thoughts of my own and that perhaps I'm actually a bit funny &/or pleasant to be around.

But it's hard to convince people of that when I don't honestly believe it myself.

So there you have it. A lack of self esteem. And probably a lack of self respect, too. And a ton of confusion about what I want from this tiny little life of mine. All this complicated by a severe lack of motivation to do anything but sit around and watch reruns of Gilmore Girls. What the hell does Rory see in Logan anyway? I seriously don't get that.