I am procrastinating. The contents of the top shelf of my wardrobe came all tumbling down on me. And I suddenly got so disgruntled, I just shoved the things back in. Had my mother seen this happening, I’d probably added some ten more years to her age. Her wardrobes are always in tip top condition. I’ve given up on asking why I cannot be like her and instead accepted the fact that we are two totally different individuals.
What consoles me is that at my age my mother was married with two kids, and because of that she was a stay-at-home mum. So that means she had endless time which she tried to kill probably by obsessing about neat and perfect. You see gals like me nowadays have to earn a living, so I have little time, at least for household things. I just think they’re a complete waste of time, and I’m one miserable failure when it comes to having my house dust free. And I really don’t mind it at all; probably that’s the saddest thing of all. But would anyone prefer to dust then go shopping? No, I thought so. Me neither.
Well I’ve typed this out, stopped and smoked a couple of cigarettes while staring into space. It’s not that I have a writer’s block. That never happens because I spend a lot of time on my own so I have learnt to amuse myself, and that includes mentally talking to myself too. And no it’s not the little voices you hear from being schizoid. It’s because once you’re on your own, then you start to entertain yourself, and the habit is hard to kick. I’m just waiting for internet activation, and right now am in world wide web withdrawal.
