Everybody Needs A Little Romance

Oh my goodness.  Here it is Thursday and I am down at the gym exercising away, trying to see if some of the good stuff I ate while visiting good friends (who are also good cooks) will disengage itself from continuing to wrap around my midsection, and all of a sudden it hits me.  THURSDAY!  And where is Beppie’s blog?

Well.  I’ve had two luxurious weeks of non-routine.  I’ve done a lot of talking, and virtually no cooking.  I think I loaded somebody’s dishwasher twice.  I did not clean. I DID make up my bed before I left the friend who has just had a knee replacement, because trotting around a bed when your knee is still swollen and painful is not the greatest fun in the world.  Other than that, I have been like one of the lilies of the field (only not so good looking), who toils not.  

But the two weeks are over, and here I am at home.  The Architect manned the ship by himself, which means that the kitchen floor desperately needed sweeping, first of all, because the Architect apparently doesn’t notice large bits of this and that when they drift to the floor, and then on my hands and knees scrubbing, because the Architect obviously spilled from time to time.  The cat compound needed basic cleaning, since (reluctantly) the Architect had fed Cat and made a few earnest efforts when it came to the litter box, but such efforts were neither consistent nor thorough.  The bed linen needed changing.  The bathroom — well, let’s just say it needed some work.  

In other words, the lady of leisure for two weeks turned into the scrubwoman of the last week, and my routine of what happens when went completely to pot.

Now that the house has been restored (sort of), I am looking around in a daze.  What happened Monday?  Besides cleaning?  Not much.  (And not a lot of cleaning, to be honest.  Mostly looking around feeling a) depressed, and b) tired, having driven 13 hours on Sunday. 

Tuesday?  Serious cleaning.

Wednesday?  Getting the rest of the serious cleaning done.

Thursday?  Finally got to the gym.

Blogging?  What’s that?  I have my routine for blogging, and guess what?  It didn’t happen.  Now how hard is it to remember that I get to share whatever happens to be on my mind on Thursdays?  Apparently, when the whole normal routine is blown, my memory goes with it.  Maybe that’s what makes getting back from vacation so hard:  not only are you giving up all that wonderful leisure (you can read as long as you want at night!  you can eat in new restaurants you’ve never tried!  you can just sit and talk with none of the usual chores nagging at you), but you’re slipping back into the discipline of routine.

Or not, in my case.

What is it about routine?  It’s not as if I don’t enjoy what makes up my routine, although I will admit a certain lack of enthusiasm for cleaning toilets.  Most of it I do because it’s stuff I want to do.  I want to teach.  I want to write, and one of the luxuries of being away was that I had two full days of writing while my daughter was at work.  I like the work on the loops that I do.  I really love writing this blog!  So how could I have forgotten?

I suppose because routine gives me a structure.  It’s not that it can’t be changed, because it is altered from time to time, but that it keeps me moving relatively smoothly through week after week after week.  I know, roughly, what I need to accomplish on Monday, on Tuesday, etc. etc.  But there seems to be an adjustment period, a time of having to take up each responsibility singly, before I really slip back into the familiar harness.

Does everybody else get back from vacation and slip right into the routine without a blip or two?  If you do, I look at you with fascination and admiration.  And reassure the rest of you that I’ve got it down now.

See you next Thursday!

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