Friday, September 6, 2013

Ugh Housework

I envy my friends and family that are good at cleaning and love to do it. I apparently have no Mary Poppins DNA whatsoever. Every minute spent washing dishes is total misery. I never get to the point with keeping house that I can smile and say, "Oh that's so much better now that it's clean and organized." In fact when a house is too clean it makes me twitchy. I hate packing. I hate unpacking. I hate giving yard sales where people paw through all my stuff & want everything for $1. I hate moving furniture. And everyone I've ever had a relationship figures women clean house, that's what they do, and they are so sorely disappointed.  I should come with a disclaimer: Doesn't do windows, or floors, or scrub tile.

Now don't get me wrong. I can work in a yard all day and be quite content. I can sew beads on for hours on end. I can paint empty houses inside or out and I love it. But sit me in front of a junk drawer or a garage that needs a makeover and I'll either be angry for the next 8 hours or burst into tears or both. Part of it has to do with being an empath, and part of it has to do with psychometry. Touching things overwhelms me with emotions and memories of my kids growing up, my divorce, my unhappy childhood, friends that have died, jobs I've had and lost, moves made under great stress, etc.

If I was ever rich the first thing I would do is hire housekeepers and scullery maids. Then I could spend my life on things I'm actually good at instead of feeling like a prisoner in my own home.