As you can see, it has been a month since my last blog post.
"Wow," you say. "She must have accomplished an astounding amount of work during that time!"
Quite the contrary. I accomplished very, very little.
For instance, I have not ventured back to the gym.
After that TRX class I was barely able to sit on the toilet for about a week. I had to ingest ibuprofen to function normally. And my muscles were painful to the touch; I was practically crippled.
Then .... we moved.
We only moved down the street. Not even a block away.
But I believe that ultimately sucked more because of the lackadaisical attitude I quickly adopted about the whole process.
I thought it was going to be waaaaaaaaayyyyyyy easier than it turned out being.
It was sort of like those first time moms who insist that "since women have been doing this for hundreds of years, childbirth can't be all that bad."
For some it isn't. I have heard of those orgasmic birthing experiences. But I think they are full of shit. Or at least in the EXTREME minority.
I was definitely not one of those women; I was quickly barfing in pain.
***As a side note, that day was EXACTLY fifteen years ago today. My first-born turned fifteen today. I know right? I'm way too young-looking and hawt to have a fifteen year old. That is what you were thinking, right?***
So, when people would ask if we were ready to move, I would respond with an enthusiastic, "Yes! We're only moving a block away! Piece of cake!"
The concern did not register until I saw our friends' twitch of horror when I showed them around the rental.
"Really, only grab the large stuff," I said reassuringly. I gestured to the disaster of a bedroom. "Like only the bed, the dressers. Don't worry, I'll get all the small stuff."
The problem is that it was pretty much ALL small stuff.
The large items were moved within the day. The small items were still being moved a week later and I wanted to drown myself in the garden tub.
I suspect there was some rolling of the eyes behind my back and it must have made for some juicy gossip fodder.
I can just hear it: "That place was a MESS. A DISASTER. That pastor's wife does not clean. She must watch movies and BRAVO programming all day long!"
Ummmm....that is sorta true.
The whole "I'm not cleaning until we move" fabulosity that I had adopted about two months before the moving date? That wasn't such one of my most brilliant ideas evah.
In fact, it was freaking stupid.
That is why I am cleaning all four bathrooms in my new house every single Tuesday whether they need it or not. Honestly? They gleam. GLEAM. You have not seen such shiny tubs and toilets. In your whole life. It's THAT impressive.
I learned the hard way that dirt builds up. And bugs are insidious. Especially in the south. I felt that the both the former AND the latter were ferociously taking me out by the time we moved out of the rental.
About a week after we moved into the new house, I began painting my front hallway.
Honestly, I tired of painting astonishingly quickly.
I had a short-lived spurt of motivation by visualizing how kick ass everything would look once I was finished.
But the ceilings turned out to be higher than I am used to and I had to stand be on my tippy toes for extended amounts of time on the chair to finish the trim. It resulted in cramping.
All in all, it was waaaaaaaaaay less "zen" than my previous painting experiences in our previous residence.
To me, painting can be relaxing.
Until that very last wall. Then it becomes pained and desperate.
The problem is, I ran out of the paint and the "oomph" I needed even before I finished the front hallway.
SO... upon first glance, the entryway is welcoming and inviting. It is an olive green color and is very warm.
Upon second glance, it needs one more coat of paint.
Upon the third glance, the detailing sucks monkey butt.
On the "glass half full" side (which I am desperately working on), I have completed painting 1/8 of the house.
That is a very unscientific assessment of percentages, because honestly I have always sucked with percentages. It is the reason I went into journalism instead of the medical field. The math requirement is minimal in journalism.
So right now my sinks and toilets are really, really clean.
I can cling to the toilets and sinks, because they make me feel productive. There is a whole lot else that needs to be done and my vacuum cleaner is broken. Which is just phenomenal, by the way. Just phenomenal.
But I have the toilets. Dagnabbit, I have the toilets.