This morning I lazily got out of bed at a little off 10:30. I made my way to the kitchen, got myself some cereal, and watched Saturday Disney and Rage on the living room couch. Following the completion of my bowl of cereal, I decided to clean my floordrobe that had accumulated over oh, about two weeks or so. My room looked an awful state, but it really only required the folding of some clothes, and the washing of some worn ones. Oh and some vacuuming.
But, since it was such a nice morning, and it seemed a pity to rush anything at all, I decided to take my sweet time and finished the tidying about two hours and twenty minutes later, which saw me finally have a shower at one.
After that, I was even more relaxed and maybe even a little zen. Once again, I felt compelled to walk around nude, while I had the house to myself. I wonder if the neighbours have ever seen..?
I made myself some tea and listened to Angus and Julia Stone, and wondered if I could have felt anymore chilled out and content.
And then mum got home.
Bloggers, my dear mother- bless her soul- has a problem. Not a mental problem or even a physical problem; in those areas she's quite alright. Her problem is mess/anything slightly untidy.
My mother will not go to sleep at night unless all the dishes are washed, and all the dirty laundry in the laundry basket is washed. The kitchen must be swept, and any folded laundry needs to be put away. I kid you not, she will go to bed at 11:30 on a Sunday night if needs be.
It's ridiculous, and rather infuriating.
It's not just like a habit, it's something she's dead-set serious about. She will actually get angry if these things aren't done. She'll give my sister and I the silent treatment, or she'll rant and rave under her breath in another language.
So today, mum got home at something close to 2:30. She was bringing bags of groceries in, and she told me to get the last two bags from the back seat of the car. She seemed happy enough when she was telling me that.
And then she came inside, and saw that there were dishes in the sink. You will not believe how quickly her mood changed. She rolled up her sleeves and began to run the hot water, and I knew I was in for shit this time. When my mother sees mess, doesn't say anything, and then proceeds to do it herself- you're in for it.
The thing about me is, I hate doing the dishes. I hate it so much so that I would use paper plates for the rest of my life, if it wasn't so terrible for the environment. I hate doing dishes. It may seem like an odd prerequisite, but my future husband must be willing to do the dishes for our entire married life, else I will simply not marry him. And that is that.
So mum gave me the silent treatment, and I was left wondering if she'd ever realise that there is more to life than cleaning and being tidy. I fear one day she'll die a sad old lady; sad because she spent too much time cleaning and not nearly enough time living and enjoying things. The world wont end if the dishes lay in the sink a while longer. But when the world does end, she'll wish she hadn't spent so much time doing the dishes.
Anyway, mum left to go and visit dad, and at 5 o'clock, I left for work myself. I had a four and a half hour shift- five thirty 'til ten. I was most definitely not looking forward to it. To end such a lovely peaceful day with a shift at a local fast food store seemed like such a waste. I prayed it would be quick and more or less enjoyable.
From five thirty until eight, I was working alongside about six other crew who were also friends of mine. It wasn't so bad, but come the dinner hour, we we're flat out. It was so ridiculously busy I wanted to scream, and throw food at customers. Impatient customers, complicated orders, slow kitchen staff, and very sore feet did not make for a happy me. I couldn't believe I'd been so relaxed in the morning. Talk about going from one extreme to another.
But at 8 o'clock, 80% of the crew finished their shifts, and it was just me, a girl named Hannah, two kitchen staff, and my manager Paul.
Hannah was meant to finish at eight, but Paul asked her to stay back just an hour, considering we'd be so short-staffed. After he persuaded her, he turned to me. I told him I wasn't going to stay back any later than ten. He said no, that he wasn't going to ask me that. Instead, he said, I would be order-taking on Drive-Thru. I refused, but he begged, and Paul is a bit like a scruffy, funny looking puppy that you really can't say no to. So I agreed. And what an eventful hour that was.
After a mild anxiety attack, and several screwed up orders, I managed to get the hang of it. It was most definitely not easy, and for about 67% of the time, I really wanted to 'accidently' fall out the window and get run over by one of the cars.
But I survived, thank you Jesus. And I even persuaded Paul to give me free food. I said he owed it to me, because he'd traumatized me by putting me on Drive-Thru. More or less the truth, really.
And now, finally, I'm home. My feet were so sore, I had to walk on the sides of them. I couldn't even stand in the shower, so I sat cross-legged instead. Very awkward shower that was..
But my room is tidy, and my bed has fresh clean sheets and there's really no reason not to be happy.
So, to end an eventful, crazy but pleasant day, I'm sitting here, blogging, listening to Duran Duran and painting my toenails bright purple. Now that I'm done, I'm going to paint my finger nails too, and then finish watching Love Actually.
Saturday night perfection.
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