a year in my life

Sunday Brunch: Clocking In On A Sunday… I Guess.

SUNDAY, 23 AUGUST 2015 —

I have been at home this morning cleaning…yes, cleaning!  It has probably been nearly three years since I’ve cleaned my own house.  I have to tell you, it looks good.  It took 90 minutes of my Sunday (which I’m not thrilled about), but it got done.  My housekeeper let me know she couldn’t come in this week and last week I gave her the week off to prep for her housewarming party and so here I was vacuuming, emptying trashes and tidying up piles that probably need my attention only since she couldn’t possibly know what to throw and what to save.  So, the office is now in “working order” again except for a stack of papers in my bin to file and a stack of paper for Chris to go through and tell me what is staying and what is going.

I don’t want to clean my house again for a very long time.  There are generally two times a year that I really dive into my home and that’s the during The High Holy Days (coming up) and all of January after the calendar year has started and I try to make sense of my life for tax season. This was nowhere near as thorough as either of those times, but I dusted off some incense remains off the meditation alter (which she is not allowed to touch) and even threw out some old bottles, towels and make-up containers I guess I must be saving for an exhibit at The Smithsonian.  I really don’t know why I had four empty powder compacts still…

I looked at my phone and it seems people have forgotten that I don’t work on Sunday.  It’s annoying to me really.  I’m a pretty public person and a pretty moody one at that.  I have noted numerous time over the past ten years that I don’t move for anyone on Sundays. For me to look at my phone in acknowedgement of anyone besides Chris or my mom on a Sunday is a big deal.  So, sadly, everyone has to wait and they probably think I’m being a bitch by not answering.  What makes me bitchier is the fact that two of the callers are now trying to contact me after I left messages three weeks ago or more.  Now we need to talk? On the one Sunday I had to scrub my own toilets? No, please excuse me while I rinse the cleaning rags out in the wash tub.  My day off turned into a domestic duty which as much as I say it doesn’t bother me, kinda does.  On Sundays, I just want to read The New York Times, watch The Barefoot Contessa and be a vegetable in my jammies.  I don’t want to clock in and work. I do it six days a week and smile half of that time serving others, I don’t care to take a phone call.  Doing dishes took all my effort.  I’ll call you on Monday… Promise.


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