I’m pretty good at a lot of things, none of which I can think of right now. But I’m almost sure that a person doesn’t get to be 30 and three quarters without learning some skills and practicing them until they’re mastered. Like, I’m sure there’s something I can do that some people can’t, or some type of party trick that would impress a crowd, or maybe I’m the best at doing one thing even if it’s menial and insignificant. There’s got to be something.
Yup, still can’t think of a particular example, but I stand by my initial statement – I’m pretty good at a lot of things.
Conversely, there are a lot of things I can’t do at all. I know that I can’t do ANYTHING where I’d have to use my left hand differently than my right. Drumming? Can’t do it. I know that I can’t do ANYTHING involving too much patience because I only have so much, which is considerably less than most people. I can’t coordinate all the parts to a big meal and have them be finished at the same time. I’ve never tried, but I know I couldn’t do it.
And one thing I apparently can’t do is laundry. I mean, I can wash the clothes just fine and they hardly ever get dyed pink or shrink or anything anymore. When it comes to the washing part, I can do laundry. But that part that comes afterwards? With the bringing the basket back up stairs and folding the clothes and putting them in their proper drawers? Yeah. Not so much.
Monday was Civic Holiday here in Canadazikstan. Yay! Vacation! Glorious weather! Doin’ stuff! Well, la-dee-da to all you lucky effing Canucks who got to do any of that because in my house we spent the entire holiday folding and sorting and putting away clothes. It was awesome <– written in Sarcasm font, 10 pt.
Pre-yesterday afternoon, every bedroom in our house was scattered with clothes. It doesn’t normally get that bad, but we’ve been so busy with everything else, laundry has been just about dead last on the priority list. Right before vacuuming, apparently, but after “eating vegetables”. Everyone had clean clothes, mostly, but they were carpeting the rooms, instead of in drawers.
It was actually making the house feel smaller. Like the rooms were closing in around us. Like, give us two more weeks with this pattern and we’d be completely consumed by our clothing.
The [insert our last name here] Family. Lost in their own home; buried alive by cotton, wool, and spandex. Surviving on the crumbs of fishy crackers and chocolate smears found in the fibres of the clothes.
So we spent literally five hours dealing with the dump piles. Folding and sorting and putting away. It was torturous. Tiny pants and miniature shirts and weeny little socks and patooey. It was enough to drive me even closer to the point of insanity. WE’RE NEARLY THERE, FOLKS. I think, at last count, there were 5 baskets and 3 enormous mounts that needed to be folded. And then sorted. And then put away. I’m repeating this so many times so that you can understand how monumentally agonizing this was.
We ended up with five large garbage bags full of old and outgrown clothes for the Salvation Army and their drawers and closets are STILL full to the gills with clothes. We have put an official moratorium on the purchase of new clothes for either of the girls until they’re showing ankle and belly. They, clearly, have enough.
And THAT was our holiday Monday. How was yours?