For over two years, I've been the chief cook and bottle washer here at the estate. A never ending cycle of cleaning, laundry, cooking, repairs and a myriad of errands. But, it was no big deal. After all, I had 168 hours each and every week to get them done just right. Okay, maybe not the full 168 hours, because I had to sleep sometime, but close to it.
That all changed on Monday. I gave up my vacuum and my dust rag and my hammer ... and most cherished of all, my baggy comfy sweats and went back to work. Now I have to cram 168 hours of all of the above into a mere 48. Saturday and Sunday.
Or do I?
It's apparent that I have two choices. I can either do everything I used to do at home half-assed, or I can choose a hand-full of those activities and do them to my demanding OCD standards. And given that my (as yet unconfirmed by a written medical diagnosis) Obsessive Compulsive Disorder tends to get the better of me, it will probably be the latter. I'll just have to kick some standards to the curb and leave them to wash down the metaphorical gutter. Which will probably drive me batshit.
On the way home tonight, I mapped out a plan of action for the next two days. And as soon as I walked in the door, I gave Jan a precise two minute presentation of our action plan for the weekend. The only thing missing was the Power Point slides.
I'm sure she can't wait for tomorrow morning so we can swing into gear and "Get 'er done".
Or maybe she can.