It’s a three day weekend. This means I get to see more of George than the top of his head on the other side of the desk. Working at home has its advantages for the worker, but I would think the biggest disadvantage would be the wifely abstract interruptions.
My “Don’t forget to tighten the arm-rest on Grumpy,” would easily break into any concentration. There’s also, “Are we going out to eat? What did you want for dinner? What are you wearing tonight? Any good wrecks today?”
I’m definitely a loose cannon in his life. I’m sure he loves it when I head out to work or fall silently asleep over my computer.
He was always a precise sort of guy, but I note lately that his neatness here in the house has become a priority. Perhaps I’ve gotten even more lax and slobbish in my old age. My bad housekeeping habits used to drive my mother mad…throw it all in a closet and shut the door sort of thing. My mother had daily help. Of course her house was clean.
When I was in college the first time around, I was an alcoholic with two jobs, two kids, a stoned husband, causes, several friends living with us, and great crowds of friends stopping by every night. Once when mother called before stopping by, not only did we all throw things in every closet, the garage, and the oven, but once we even hosed the kitchen down.
George says that getting a housekeeper saved our marriage. The truth is that the first five years, I was repeating all the old patterns only without the two kids, friends, and alcohol. Now that I’m on the downslide of years, I note that I am also on the downslide of neatness again. Dishes get done, but often only once a day. The covers get pulled up on the bed, but the bed doesn’t get made every day. Books pile up on the worktable, but no work is getting done there. George is outwardly very kind about my slobby habits and lack of motivation.
Obviously I need to do something. Maybe I could make it worse by going back to school?