I’m getting so anxious to move into the new house. If all goes to plan, we’ll be moving in 14 days. Suddenly, however, 14 days seems like an eternity from now. Like it’s NEVER GOING TO GET HERE. EVER. (never!!)
I’m losing my motivation to keep the house we’re in now clean and tidy. If Ezra throws a chunk of bananna onto the floor, I think to myself, “Ehh..no need to pick it up… We’re moving in two weeks anyways, right?” And all those dustbunnies in the corners? “Ehh… No need to sweep them up. We’re moving in two weeks anyways, right?” I don’t want to actually clean anything because I know I’ll be doing the last big massive clean as we move our stuff out.
Meanwhile, the bananna chunks turn black and start smelling like the bottom of my garbage can, and the dust bunnies become larger than the huge clothes piles I’ve heaped onto the bedroom floor.
I’m stuck between the ‘now’ and the ‘not yet’. It’s a dichotomy that threatens to bury my family and I alive in dirty laundry and massive towers of Junk Mail. (The mail that says: “Mr. Emery Noorton, you’ve just won!” or “Mr. Emery, an offer you can’t refuse!”) I don’t know why all the junk mail people think that I’m of the male persuasion, but they do.
So, I guess I’ll just continue to kick crumbs under the couch as I walk by instead of picking them up and throwing them away… and my new definition of “dusting” will be when I wipe off the computer screen with the front of my shirt.
Afterall, it’s only two more weeks, right?