Late Night Housework

As you can see, my gym regime is going horribly. There simply are not enough hours in the day to do both that and Home Improvements unless I start managing my daily schedule down to the minute, which it looks like I might have to. I am very worried about my waistline and I would like to give up on the house, but as of right now I have entire rooms that are out of commission as well as windows that have to be replaced, blinds that have to be installed, new cooker, etc, plus plastering, painting, replace wardrobe, the list goes on and on. It’s a project where once you’ve started it, you have to see it through to the end.

I have continued to do warehousing at work this week and the upshot of that is that it’s a good job I’m purging my house of every last item that is not essential to my survival, because office stuff keeps arriving. That said, because I am getting rid of a goodly amount of junk, I should, in theory, have room for all this stuff. A bit earlier this evening I was looking for somewhere to store my large flower vases, which have always been a problem and tend to live on the kitchen floor, waiting to get kicked over, and then I realised that I could put them on the bathroom window sill. Because for the very first time since I’ve lived here, the window sill is empty and not rammed full of old boxes of plasters and sun tan lotion from 1978.

Tonight I am doing housework again. It’s a slightly different type of housework this evening, the kind where you shove all the junk out of sight in the spare room and try to make the rest of the house look as good as possible. The reason for this is because even though I am horribly overweight, I have an upcoming date. It is with Blondie, who I dated back in October 2012, a time when I was utterly in love with the Honcho but also needed some actual real-life human contact with someone, then as now. I like Blondie, he is a very handsome, intelligent, competent and POLITE Canadian, as Canadians so often are. Plus, we know each other, which is nice. He is a known quantity. He’s a good guy. Something tells me, though, that he has different standards of housekeeping than Socrates. I like having Socrates over, he doesn’t notice or care if my flat is messy, one gets the impression that he has seen worse. Blondie, though, is a lot more middle-class. I feel the need to clean up, the kind where you try to shine the taps and put out small bars of fancy soap. So that’s what I’m doing tonight, for as long as it takes. Because I am being sociable with friends this weekend (of which more news later) and then Blondie is going to show up here on Sunday evening. So I have to transform my beat-up looking flat into something resembling at least a four-star hotel by tomorrow morning.

I hope he can give me what I need. Recent conversations with the Honcho have given me the most raging hunger, of a type that only he fully understands and can satisfy. I sent Blondie a text message earlier, containing certain strongly-worded remarks that would have had the Honcho quivering with obscene and sadistic impulses. “I will have to do exactly as I am told!”, Blondie replied. And I suppose I will have to accept that as good enough. You see? Polite.

Sigh. Let’s have a tune.

Notorious BIG: One More Chance

 

 

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