Last night my husband proposed that perhaps the cleaner person lady could match the giant basket of socks together, instead of just hiding his stuff.
So I woke this morning thinking of two things..
number one: why is it that I feel compelled to keep ALL of the mis-matched socks that have ever accumulated in my life. We only have one laundry basket full, but it truly is a full laundry basket. I believe there are socks there from 1994. In fact I know one of those socks dates back to when I stole my step-monster's favorite long socks so I could wear them with MY little boots and a long skirt. I felt very guilty for stealing them.. I felt even worse when I lost one of them in an apartment complex dryer (or perhaps it was at Bing Wong's next to Bison Brewery?) So I suppose I have been carting around this sock to make sure that I still feel bad about stealing the black with subtle maroon flower socks.. what am I Catholic? Actually no I am not, but I did cry when the Pope died.
number two: does everyone clean for the cleaning person? I mean if you have decided that you are such a looooozer that you cannot possibly keep your house clean by yourself... do you still clean up a bit for the cleaning people? Maybe we should all just pretend the cleaners are coming to our house.. then we would clean up ourselves.. and we would save all of that money. Of course an entire industry could be wiped out...
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just notes from jennyalice
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Thoreau
I went to the woods because
I wished to live deliberately,
to front only the essential
facts of life, and see if
I could not learn what
it had to teach, and not,
when I came to die,
discover that I had not lived.
I did not wish to live
what was not life,
living is so dear;
nor did I wish
to practise resignation,
unless it was quite necessary.
I wanted to live deep
and suck out all the marrow of life,
to live so sturdily and Spartan- like
as to put to rout all that was not life,
to cut a broad swath and shave close,
to drive life into a corner,
and reduce it to its lowest terms,
and, if it proved to be mean,
why then to get the whole and
genuine meanness of it,
and publish its meanness
to the world;
or if it were sublime,
to know it by experience,
and be able to give
a true account of it
in my next excursion.
I wished to live deliberately,
to front only the essential
facts of life, and see if
I could not learn what
it had to teach, and not,
when I came to die,
discover that I had not lived.
I did not wish to live
what was not life,
living is so dear;
nor did I wish
to practise resignation,
unless it was quite necessary.
I wanted to live deep
and suck out all the marrow of life,
to live so sturdily and Spartan- like
as to put to rout all that was not life,
to cut a broad swath and shave close,
to drive life into a corner,
and reduce it to its lowest terms,
and, if it proved to be mean,
why then to get the whole and
genuine meanness of it,
and publish its meanness
to the world;
or if it were sublime,
to know it by experience,
and be able to give
a true account of it
in my next excursion.
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there are only 15 minutes during the day when I really think we are not going to make it.
then minute 16 comes and we are all going to be
okay.
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thejennyalice at gmail.com