Ms. Knitingale's Busy Day

Today was the first weekday in quite awhile in which I had not a thing planned and could pretty much do whatever I chose. I envisioned quite a bit of impressive accomplishment. This is further proof that I am not always completely in touch with reality. Or even within spitting range. My intent was to:

*Clean mudroom carefully, mopping floor and scrubbing mat beneath cat food bowls with bleach before allowing it to dry in the sun.
*Do three or four loads of laundry.
*Clean clothes closet.
*Bag up unwanted clothes and shoes and take to Value Village.
*Clean crafts closet, sorting through fabric purchased last year with the intent of making scrubs since I'll be wearing them again soon.
*Remove stacks of knitting magazines and catalogs from next to the bed and vacuum floor.

My intentions are always so good. If it's true that the road to hell is paved with them, then I have a superhighway leading right down to the front gate. With an HOV lane (High Occupancy Vehicle lane, in case your city doesn't have them. Seattle instituted them so that people with a passenger could zip along in their own lane and the envy would convince the rest of us to force a stranger into our car in order that we might use the special lane as well. The problem, of course, is that most strangers don't WANT to go where I do, which I think is terribly unreasonable of them. Do they have no civic spirit??) and a scenic route.

What I actually got done was:

*Roll over at 7:00 am and glare blearily at husband's alarm clock. It is across the room so that he will have to get up to turn it off. Sadly, he is not fooling himself, and it is a given that I will be glaring blearily a full five minutes before he remembers how to get up and turn it off.
*Trip over knitting magazines and catalogs next to the bed. Again.
*Feed cats. Decide that there's no time like the present to start cleaning the mudroom and, besides, the neighbors would probably love to be treated to the sight of me in my seahawks fleece pants and holey t-shirt, spraying the cat-dish mat with a hose.
*Remember belatedly that the mat, a large rubber sort of affair, is capable of ricocheting the spray.
*Drip. And swear.
*Attempt to sweep mudroom.
*Remind Gracie again that the broom is not a ride, or a threatening cat that must be attacked. Realize that she is laying down about as much cat hair as I'm sweeping up. Wonder again why I do not have pet rocks.
*Move litter box and food dishes. Observe Gussie staring at the moved box with a worried look. Apparently a box of cat litter, when moved about 10 feet, becomes a completely unfamiliar object.
*Sweep MUCH faster.
*Go out to porch to collect cat dish mat; realize that raking up the grass clippings last week would have probably prevented what now appears to be a chia pet growing on the underside of the damp mat.
*Carry damp mop from kitchen to mudroom before realizing that I own a bucket. Spot trail of water drops on the kitchen floor (oak, and not so very fond of being wet) and use my sock to wipe it up...while holding a perfectly serviceable mop in one hand.

There's more, but it's just sad. And that was just one task. Cleaning the clothes closet didn't go too badly, if you allow "not too badly" to mean that I find it nearly impossible to part with anything because I just know that the minute I toss it, someone will come along and offer me one million dollars for a pair of red high top sneakers with a bleach spot on the top of the foot. The crafts closet was another story.

It's kind of amazing how "a few pieces of fabric purchased on sale because they would make nice scrubs" can somehow metamorphosis into piles of fabric to rival my yarn stash. And it's further amazing that I apparently thought I would have about 6 months to sew night and day in order to use up all this fabric. I also must have thought that the local hospital was going to have a naked nurse crisis and come to my door for help. There's really no other explanation. In truth, there's no explanation at all for the Elvis fabric in teals and oranges.....especially given that I don't drink.

I made it to Value Village with my reluctantly-parted-with clothes and, because I had semi-accomplished a fraction of a couple of things, I decided to stop at Bath and Bodyworks for a bottle of my favorite lotion (White Tea and Ginger...mmmmm). Nothing like rewarding yourself for doing a half-assed job. (Think what I might have gotten if I'd done a whole assed job!) I take some pride in the fact that when the perky sales girl pointed out that "everything on that wall is buy 3, get 1 free", I simply said that I knew and walked out with what I came in for and not one other thing. (Let us not dwell on the fact that they are lately given to fruity scented stuff, and that I always think I smell like yogurt when wearing raspberry body spray. Resisting counts, even if it's something I didn't want. And yes, it IS logic like this that has put me into the position of wearing Elvis scrubs.).

I did move the magazines next to the bed, but I suppose that accidentally kicking them across the room doesn't count. It seems like it should.

I'm hoping that tomorrow might be a tad more productive. (Oh, quit laughing. I might wake up with a Martha Stewart thing going on....and no, I don't mean I think I'll be going to jail.) Just in case, though, I think I should make a more manageable list:

*Knit
*Blog

I can always cut the knitting time slightly short if I feel overwhelmed.

ps: there are a couple of you whose blogs I've visited in the last couple of days but been unable to leave a comment. Kitty Mommy, you're one of them--I click comments, and nothing comes up. I'm not ignoring you, I promise. I think Dana might be one of them as well. I'm thinking about you, I promise.