Thursday, December 24, 2009

Just a spoonful of sugar -- doesn`t help

posted Thu, 03 Feb 2005

I am having a hard time finding gratification cleaning my house. I worked from home this afternoon, packing my briefcase full of stuff and emailing myself a bunch of files, so I could bake Harpo’s birthday cake today.

I had planned to bake the cake early tomorrow afternoon so I would be able to watch Harpo perform in the Blues challenge in the early evening, but my boss decided that 3:00 to 5:00 Friday would be a great time to have a meeting. Actually, it was probably the evil project manager who had that idea. Even though I am trying to get out of the meeting by pointing out that I have already committed to two other meetings at the same time – which is true – I know I am going to get stuck having to attend.

So I decided to work from home so I could bake the cake today. Yes, when I say I am going to work from home, I really do work from home. It just takes longer to do everything because dialup takes so long compared to being on the network at the office.

I took advantage of the long download time for the files I needed to do some housecleaning. Tomorrow would have been Esperanza’s day to come, but she is now fired. The burden of cleaning my house is now upon me.

I dragged the vacuum cleaner down from the attic. It’s an old Electrolux that the previous owner left in the house. It must be from the 50s, but it still works. I ran it over the floors, then emptied all the trash cans into a cardboard box that tipped over, spilling the contents onto the vacuumed floor.

I noticed when I was vacuuming under the dresser that there were a bunch of dustballs stuck to the underneath of the bottom drawer.

More than a month’s worth.

That is, more than should have accumulated from the last time Esperanza cleaned.

But despite the vacuuming and dusting and trash emptying – I haven’t gotten to the window washing and bathroom cleaning yet – I do not have that feeling of great satisfaction one should expect from a job well done. Instead, I feel resentful, bitter and angry.

Is this why so many women in the 50s had to be drugged?

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