Monday, Monday

Boy, do Mondays ever suck. (What an original observation, I know.) This is going to be a whiny post – consider yourselves warned. We had yet another weekend that was supposed to be completely cleared for doing stuff on the house, and yet somehow got eaten up with social and other obligations. You know, some old friends in from out of town, doing our stint of box office/ushering for the show my company just opened, visiting a friend’s brand new baby. All stuff that’s fun to do, but then when do you unpack? Added to which, I got a severe case of the tireds this weekend, so on Sunday morning, when I had all these plans to get stuff done before going to the theatre, I literally could do nothing except sit on the sofa and read my New Yorker. Which is so frustrating I could just spit. I mean, no one enjoys being lazy on a Sunday more than me, don’t get me wrong, but I’d kind of like it to be a choice, you know? And normally I can summon up the energy for a little unpacking and organizing and just go full steam until it’s done. But my steamer is broken or something. Damn life-force sucking babies. (Ha! Right after I typed that, Hoss kicked me in the ribs. Serves me right, I guess.) Mr. Squab is trying to convince me to just lay low until the baby comes, and mentally I know he’s right. But oof, it is not easy to do when there are so many visible reminders of things that still need to be put away/cleaned/sorted/organized. The sucky part about it is that this is the kind of task it’s not easy to have anyone else do. I mean, Mr. Squab and I have to figure out where things go and how to organize everything – so even though lots of people have offered to help, it’s not something easy to help with. One thing is, I have GOT to say no to any and all non-urgent events in the next couple of weeks. (I am a social squab. This is not easy to do!) And, like, probably I should start going to bed earlier. (I am a night owl squab. I cherish the time I’m not at work!) And mostly, I should just try to get over it, and accept that there may still be major holes in the house-settling scheme when the baby comes. I mean, it’s not like we get a prize or anything for finishing the unpacking before Hoss arrives. And we do have a place for Hoss to sleep, which is the most critical thing, I guess. But boy, I hope we’re more settled soon. It’s hard to feel at home when your home is largely contained in boxes in your dining room.

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