Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Nocturnal commision

It’s a wonderment to me how much can be done between the hours of 2:30 and 5 a.m.

Why, in just that slight amount of time last night, I washed all the dishes, cleaned up the bathroom, went through all my mail, prioritized bills, pet Albert. and read.

It was one of “those” nights. My eyes flew upon at 2:30 and I was uh-WAKE. Totally.

Normally I can fall back to sleep with very little trouble, but it wasn’t to be so last night/this morning. My mind was RACING, and I do think that y’all know of which I speak. All the stuff I’ve been letting slip was now slipping me up, and I was about to fall headlong into some very sticky life messes if I didn’t get some order put, and soon.

So, up I got. I thought for a moment about brewing a pot of coffee and just calling it morning (as I used to do when the Things were babies), but I held out some small hope that I would be able to salvage a little more sleep before the sun rose, and so stayed uncaffeinated. I then began working around the house in a tack-sharp frenzy, sifting through the detritus that I’d allowed to settle in around me.

I hate detritus.

In my perfect world, there would be no piling of papers allowed, no corners of desks gone missing under the weight of a month’s worth of unopened mail, no unknown or forgotten quantities of information or financial obligations left to sullenly squat on any random horizontal surface, because that would simply be too much “stuff” left undone and the clamor for my attention from the silent envelopes would start to drive me a little batty.

True to form, it did. I could not ignore that the “pile” on my desk was reaching a height of 4-inches, which in my variety of organization approaches the dangerous level. Really, even with reasonably careful daily culling of the mail, there are still “things” that I put off until another day, and that pile represented all the things I’d been putting off.

So, OUT with the old bill stubs. OUT with the non-significant schoolwork. OUT with the old weekly teacher’s notes, OUT with the offers for things I thought I might want but realize I really don’t, OUT with paper copies of bills I get online, Out with the guilt associated with not having done all this much earlier.

And hel-LO bills.


Part of the beauty of ignoring “the pile” is also ignoring the bills. There were a month’s worth of them, and they’re all due next week. It took two thumbtacks to get them all fixed to the bulletin board I keep above my desk in the Tiny House’s kitchen. Two FULL thumbtacks.

Having done THAT onerous chore (note that I did not PAY any of the bills. That would simply be too much like real work for that time of day), I celebrated by cleaning off the kitchen table of wrapping paper, a couple of “to-do” crafty things, and some cat hair, then I laid out a table runner, placed a big fat ol’ candle in the middle and admired the effect.

The dishes were next. I had to set and think a spell on whether or not I wanted to do them or if I was tired enough by that point to call it quits and try to sleep. The answer was a most definite “nah!” Soon they were all resting comfortably on the dish drainer thingie, sparkly clean and ready to be repatriated to the cabinet. Ah, I LOVE it when the plates are happy.

With the kitchen straightened out, I briefly pondered moving onto the laundry, then thought better of it. Laundry is a long-term commitment, after all, and because my dryer squeaks like a sumbee it would have been a markedly disruptive commitment to boot. Besides which, I’m out of hangars. Again. I settled for petting the cat for a while, then laying down on the couch to “rest,” which is where I found myself 90 minutes later, with drool on the pillow and a cat on my head.

For it being a very odd night, it gave me peace of mind. I’m back in control of one small chunk of my life, and it feels darned good.

Tonight I want to sleep well, so I’m doing the laundry and bills in order to completely still my mind. There’s only so much of this nocturnal meandering a girl can take, you know.

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