I cleaned my house last night. It's so clean, in fact, that Matt said he didn't feel at home. He's pining for the junk. Or maybe it's because I put all his stuff in a box and burned it. No, not really. I told him to eat it because it's taken me 10 months to get the house to have a semblance of the order and cleanliness to which I aspire. As much as I like stuff, I like space more and I'm just plain tired of living between piles of crap.
In the way of what to write on your weightloss blog when you're waiting for your grandiose start date (which normally is bullshit and I'd like to think I'd call myself on it but this here is a genuine icky, mouth-breathing, must rest necessity) I've been pondering what I want my life to look like, you know, in the future. I want to be the person who just washes the two plates and a pot instead of saying I can do that tomorrow. I want to be the person who just opens the bank statement and files it instead of making a pile six months high first. Those seem like little do-able things to me. Actually, have any of you seen the movie Proof? I want to be the anal retentive sister with the list in her day planner but I think that might be too much to ask for.
How can I exercise every night and be too lazy to wash dishes and sort a days' worth of papers? It's the sort of laziness that makes more work for you in the end, which makes me wonder what kind of laziness doesn't make more work for you in the end. I have no answer so I guess I should just stop being lazy because it's illogical. Ha. The truth of the matter is that I trained myself to be a person who exercises every night and not to eat every cookie I bake and I can train myself to be a person who works tasks as they come. I trained the goldfish to eat off my finger, I can train me to throw away old receipts. The IRS will not care that I bought soymilk and yogurt in June of '06. If I could write that off I'd have found a way by now.
It seems to me that I've had an epiphany of late, possibly since my birthday, that maturity isn't going to come find me and tap me on the shoulder like Ed McMahon or the Grim Reaper. I have to, like, make the decision to act on it all on my lonesome. I've been waiting for my life to fall into place when, uhm, I've been the one at the wheel the whole time. Little things big things, I put them all on the backburner for no real reason. I'm not curing cancer in the interim, I'm twidling my thumbs thinking about what I'll do someday. Screw that, this is a year of doing and acting even if it is just a year of having a neat house I'm proud of. I'm out of debt, I can change jobs if I want or take a trip, start a business or write a spy novel. I want to do something for me this year that isn't just about getting into shape. Something in addition to that. Something to further my petition for adulthood. In my own mind anyway.