The workshop is finished, I was told I did well and that they enjoyed my presentation. I appreciate that, since this was my first time presenting at a workshop, but I’m also afraid that maybe they were being polite! Still, it went okay, and I did enjoy myself some.
And I was paid. That is the most important thing.
Then I came back to the office because I had a meeting scheduled. And the person who was supposed to show never did. I get a message later saying they were sick, but BUHG. They were the one who wanted to meet in the first place, the one who actually needed it. /whine
I just got a phone call from my landlady saying they want to bring in a handyman to look at the electricity tomorrow at 2pm. On one hand this is good, because I thought my electric bill was a little high, on the other hand, it means I have to clean. I have paperwork strewn out all over the place. Cat fur. Dear high queen of felines, there is white cat fur everywhere. And my tile is white, so it is so hard to see sometimes. It’s a furnished (came furnished) room, and Howlite (my cat) has happily destroyed the seats of the two table chairs (they’re cheapy pieces of crap in the first place, but that doesn’t change the fact that my cat has clawed the hell out of those seats) and the desk chair.
I’ve set a spare throw blanket on one, a messenger back on the other, and pushed them both under the table. I’ll do something similar with the desk chair. I’ll need to dust and mop… I should be glad, since I need to do all of these things before I leave anyway … but I loathe cleaning. I am a complete and total slob. I am like the stereotype of those disgusting people (usually men) who live in their mom’s basement at 45 doing nothing but watching porn and eating pizza.
(That’s a thing, right?)
Granted, I am not 45, I don’t live in my mother’s basement, and porn and pizza don’t come my way all that often, but the fact remains: I am a slob.
I’m not sure if any of you have heard of the site “UnFuck Your Habitat”, but it’s basically the only way I can stand cleaning anything. And it is the only reason I make my bed. I spent over a decade bitching about how pointless it is to make beds (though, I didn’t stop making my bed until a few years in, when I moved out of my parents — dad’s — house and went to university). Now, I make it almost every single day. It does make the room look nicer. And it doesn’t take much time.
I hate being wrong almost as much as I hate cleaning, but I’ve come to terms with the bedmaking. Unless I’m running really late. Or I’ve decided to pull one of those “don’t leave bed for anything except the toilet or the pantry” days. Did I mention I was an awful slob?
I hope you all have a fantastic weekend!