Nothing is getting done and this time it is me. If I don't do things then Major Dragon won't do things and we end up having a good bellow at each other instead of a good binning. Not of each other I hasten to add. Though I suspect lately we have both been sorely tempted.
The winter months and the dark and cold of them are fairly splatting me miserably on the floor. Or as close as I can get to it in the current situation. I have misplaced my Prozac prescription while in a haze of tired blahs because I am a idiot (probably hiding it from myself) and seem to have lost a myriad of other things. All my time seems to be spent wandering about wondering where the hell I have put whatever this time. And truly, they could be anywhere in here. I caught myself peering hopefully in the fridge earlier in case I had put anything other than food in there.
I have not slept tonight. I had planned on a day out tomorrow of various domestic things like food shopping etc. but now wondering if I can get out of it. MD has a free day but has done her usual GRAND PLAN which seems to have layered on to the day a list of things that would ordinarily take us 3 days to achieve. I don't know if this is a hoarding thing or just something especially MD in its pure lunacy. She has no concept of task length and time. It has taken years to convince her that the Hoard can't be sorted out fully in a week. She still treasures hopes. In her head she is 27, with a youthful turn of speed that can achieve all. In minutes. Then she assumes that well if she isn't? Then I am half her age and it should be no problem for me. She remembers the 20-something who springcleaned the house madly in about a week annually while MD was away on holiday (oh the days of free rubbish uplifts. And the youthful lack of respect that let me flip things in the bin with nary a guilty qualm.) It doesn't seem to totally register that that was ten years, good health and over half a hoard ago. The only thing I can do at any speed these days is drink a cup of tea. Actually, thinking on it, this would be another way MD halts herself from Hoard cleaning. All jobs should only take ten minutes. She starts something, gets miserable that it is taking too long, gets disheartened, gets thirsty, gets hungry, stops for a rest and ooh look what is on the tv and doesn't get started again. And neither do I since her chair is bang in the middle of the house bang in a hamster run and usually in my way. Also then she becomes a back seat cleaner and generally risks having a carrier bag stuffed in her mouth as I grow more and more irritated with comments from the gallery.
Anyway. The Grand Day Out. Kicking myself since I KNOW this happens and if my brain had been a bit more present I could have been all glowing girl scout prepared. So trying to herd a few cats, er, task preparations that I can airily drop in MD's lap for her to do while on my way back to bed. Well I say bed but in a mad Puritan moment, in a bid to try and make me do something before my mood went down, I struck my bed and have been sleeping on the floor. Sometimes this works. The general discomfort usually gets me up and vaguely productive. And indeed it did initially. Enough that I have managed to pull my own room apart into equally as disastrous area as the rest of the house. Oops. So the current net result of this strategy is a sore hip, extra tired grumpiness and a distinct feeling of failure. Balls.
I think I am going to give up on the stick and try a bit of carrot for a while. As long as the carrot is chocolate.
