Pardon My Hebetude

I’m not the dynamo I used to be. When I moved into this house 14 years ago, I was quite industrious. One of the first things I did was patch all the cracks in the plaster walls and ceiling with drywall joint compound. Then I painted the entire inside of my house – three coats of paint on both floors and the connecting stairwell.

I upgraded my kitchen with new cabinets, countertops, and floor covering. I replaced the appliances in the kitchen. I replaced the shower stall in the second floor bathroom. I replaced the second floor windows – had to, the double-glazed window panes had lost their gas charge and had become permanently fogged. I replaced the roof shingles and the fascia boards and the gutters. I repaired or replaced old plumbing. In other words, I did stuff.

Then time passed and I got older and lazier. Or, as I like to think: older and wiser. Because one day I had the thought: there’s no one in this house except me. Who am I trying to impress?

I got apathetic about house cleaning. I got indifferent to washing dishes – sometimes letting them collect beside the kitchen sink for 2 or 3 days before I washed them. I justified this on the basis that I used very few dishes and flatware: a plate here, a bowl there; a spoon at this meal, a fork at that meal. I could let them pile up for 3 days and still not have too many to fit in the dish drainer. But still.

I became indifferent about laundry. I quit neatly folding my just-laundered underwear before putting it into my chest of drawers. Now I stuff it into a drawer, close the drawer, and I’m done with it.

Today I threw two grocery bags of used underwear into the wheelie bin behind my garage. I did this because – well, I had just bought new underwear because I knew I was running out of clean underwear. If I didn’t buy new underwear, I knew I would have to wash something. Throwing out my used underwear felt good – and a little like spring housecleaning.

I changed the sheets on my bed today. What did I do with the used sheets? I took them to the wheelie bin and dumped them alongside the used underwear. I don’t mind washing sheets but I hate folding them when they come out of the dryer. I firmly believe it’s not possible for a male humanoid to fold fitted sheets. I put clean sheets on the bed, but the next time I change sheets, they’ll probably end up in the wheelie bin. (Note to myself: buy more sheets and pillowcases. I go through them rather fast.)

I suppose this is why they put people into “homes” – to protect them from themselves. Thank goodness no one knows about my lackadaisical turn of mind. It’s not like I’m telling the world about it. I have no way of doing that.

So shhhh! Don’t tell anyone about this blog. If one day I suddenly, and without explanation, quit publishing new blog posts, you’ll know why.