10.11.2006
I believe the appropriate response here would be, "Quit yer bitchin'!"
If you spend too much time thinking about it, the monotony of everyday things will kill you. How are we not all insane? Goddamn housework, think about it: you mow the lawn but the grass keeps growing. You empty the dishwasher but then you use a plate. You do the laundry but then you change clothes. You make the bed but then you sleep in it. You scrub the toilet but then you have to shit. You pay the bills but then the mail comes. You straighten the couch cushions but then you sit down. You take out the trash but then you use a Kleenex. You fill up your car but then you drive it. You dust the table but invisible flakes are still in the air. You wash the floor but then you walk on it. You put on new sheets but the very next night they’ve lost that crisp feeling.

And getting ready for work in the morning: performing the same ablutions over and over, day after day, in the same order. This morning I got ready with the overwhelming sense of, “Jesus, I just did this” and marveled at just how many tiny, ridiculous, exacting steps make up my routine, which goes like this:

The alarm sounds at 5:30 a.m. I kick Joe to turn it off because he is such a deep sleeper he doesn’t hear it. I get up and find my slippers in the dark while brushing my tangled hair. I shuffle to the bathroom, squinting in the sudden bright light, to take care of business, brush my teeth and floss. I run the shower, take off my pajamas and hang them on the door hook. In the shower, I let the water run soften yesterday’s mascara, which I have to pick out of my eyelashes to avoid smearing all over my face. I shampoo, wash face, condition, wash body, shave underarms and legs, rinse, and comb through my hair. I dry off, wrap the towel around my head and rub body butter on my arms and legs. I put my pj’s back on, moisturize my face and put my makeup on in the living room while watching the morning news. Then I go back into the bathroom to towel-rub and comb out my wet hair, then apply frizz serum, shine serum and curl gel. I scrunch the bottom of my hair and clip back both sides to keep it out of my face while it air dries. Then I straighten my bangs with a round brush and the blow dryer. I go back to the bedroom, stare at my closet and get half-dressed: trousers, stockings, slippers, bra and camisole. Then I check on Olivia, go to the kitchen to pack my snacks for the day, go back to the bathroom to finish drying my hair, finish dressing, put on jewelry, slather on hand cream, gather my bags and keys, kiss Olivia, kiss Joe, and finally walk out the door at 6:45 a.m.

Exhausting!

I’ve looked for ways to simplify certain steps. Sometimes I choose my clothes and pack my snacks the night before, but being late is not the problem. I don’t shave my legs every day, which I used to do. I don’t always bother with the body butter or hand cream. But the rest of it is just basic maintenance. My hair routine sounds a lot more involved than it actually is. After Olivia was born, I asked my stylist to make my life easier by giving me a cut that took advantage of the natural wave. I didn’t intend to use three products but they all do a different job and it only takes two seconds to mix one squirt of each in my hands and work it through. As for makeup, I only wear shadow liner, mascara and lip gloss. I don’t really want to pare down any more because I’ve been down that slippery slope before.

A while back I got really lazy. I was bored or not getting enough sleep or something, and my daily effort eroded to almost nothing. I hit snooze three or four times before I finally got up. I bypassed my nicer clothes in favor of more slouchy, comfortable ones. I skipped makeup altogether. At my nadir, I didn’t even bother showering every day. On the second day I’d just wash my face, put my hair up and avoid people. I looked and felt awful. The extra sleep wasn’t worth it.

I’m losing my own point. What is it again? That taking care of oneself is a pain in the ass, a necessary evil. It’s even harder with a baby. It takes forever for me to get us both ready, in fits and starts between cuddles and bottles, unless I neglect her and do it all in one shot. And the gym! I used to go! Regularly! I quit my membership back in June. I don’t know how or when to fit it back into my day.

Hmm… even the gym was a pain in the ass: produced more laundry, stole an hour from my evening, was one more bag to pack each night, etc.

OK, PLEASE SHUT UP NOW.


2 Comments:

Blogger Red said...

Time to watch a special on handicapped people, or something. :)

Blogger Red said...

Also, I had to google ablutions.

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