V and O are off enjoying the sunny shores of the Outer Banks this week and, while I will admit to feeling somewhat melancholy at their initial departure, I also knew it would be a week of much needed quiet and an opportunity to get shit done. Or, more accurately, time to up my Happy Dance and stop adulting for 8 days. The only one who didn’t get the memo was the cat.
Things I thought I might want to get done:
Finish the laundry room and move the litterbox, paint the guest bedroom and the workout room, refurbish some old dining room chairs, patch a hole and paint the kitchen wall, clean the cobwebby corners of the cathedral ceilings, repaint the foyer/vestibule, make a headboard for our bed, finish my walk-in closet, change the paint in the kids’ bathroom, call a pool company for an estimate on a pool, …
What I “might” actually have done –
Lost several hours on the computer doing I-don’t-even-remember-anymore,
[Still learning to] play a song on the keyboard,
Mopped up a pile of cat vomit strategically deposited at the bottom of the stairs,
Drank several bottles of Dogfish 60-Minute,
Did the absolute minimum to clean the house,
Brushed up on my Spanish for about 30 minutes (which really means, re-learning it),
Binge-watched the new season of Orange is the New Black,
Cleaned out the fridge and prepped some food for easy grab-snacks,
Gave myself a pedicure,
Slept through every night since Friday (well, except for my body’s programmed 3 a.m. wakeup),
Put a filet on the grill and forgot about it. For an hour.
Drank more wine,
Stayed in bed an extra hour this morning to show Oliver who’s boss because he woke me up out of a sound sleep by standing on my arm. All 17 pounds of him. Because, hungry.
I’m not sorry.
There’s a lot more trouble to be had, but I’m currently an hour into a bottle of Domaine Bellevue Touraine Rose and patching a hole in the kitchen wall is probably NOT a good idea. Sabra is watching me closely to see if I will follow through on my threat of giving her a bath, but alas – she is off the hook until the kids come back.
Todd made me help wash the car this morning and I pulled an Opac and swiped at it with a sponge a few times and then complained about the pain in my arm and suddenly remembered a phone call I had to make.
Reality returns shortly and so does the whining. I’ve got less than 3 days to squeeze in some more slackin and I’m going all out. I refuse to be a productive adult, at least outside of my job, until Sunday.
Pass me that bottle of wine.