Running from the Mess

I did go down and take pictures of the basement. I just didn't feel like messing with the pictures and putting them up. I felt pretty lazy, which seems to be the way of things by the looks of that basement and by the looks of my whole house. The house isn't nearly as bad as the basement, but it's bad; bad enough that I would be thoroughly embarrassed if someone came to visit unannounced. I have scrapbook stuff all over the dining room table, and there are newspapers and general clutter all over the rest of the living room. All that clutter makes me feel crappy. At least in the basement, I can ignore it 90% of the time, because I don't see it and live in it every single day. But when the living areas of the house get all messy, I get irritable and feel out of sorts. That doesn't help my already constant out of sorts feeling. It just makes me feel supremely hopeless and slobby.

I had lovely plans for this weekend. I fully intended to get things straightened up and start work on the basement. I got John to agree to spend one hour each weekend down there. That doesn't mean I won't spend more time down there myself, but there are things that require his attention, things that, if left to me, would get thrown away.

No one else's stuff is ever as important as your own, so almost everything of his would be on the curb Wednesday morning. Every time I go into that basement and do my work, there are things I can't touch, things I can't organize, things that look like useless junk, things that get in my way, and I get stuck and can't seem to progress any further because that same old stuff, John's stuff, does not get addressed. I know I have my share of utterly worthless crap, but at least I make some kind of attempt to go through it, organize it, and whittle it down every so often. His just heaps upon itself, and I swear, multiplies. Don't think I haven't been tempted just to throw a bunch of that stuff out. If I put it in a box, he would never know it's missing. I mean, the man hasn't even looked at much of that stuff in years, and not just since we moved here but years before that. How important can it be? He sites the fact he used his twenty year old guitar magazine collection once he got into music again as reason enough to horde junk he hasn't touched that is older than our children. Even I plow through my "scrapbook" box every couple years and throw stuff out that doesn't mean as much to me as I thought it might. Hell, some of that supposedly sentimental stuff doesn't bring back any memory at all. And some of it just needs to go because the uselessness of it far outweighs the sentimentality of potential usefulness in the unknown future. But does he really need that particular manual for that outdated computer part from 1992? I don't think so!

My biggest problem in going through is stuff is that I don't know what much of it is. I'm afraid I will throw away the chip-laden card that might be worth something. I never bothered to learn the difference between a modem and a video card. I don't know what's new or what's old. Those things don't have freshness stickers on them or turn moldy and unidentifiable like the stuff in my refrigerator. I just don't know, so I fear throwing away something valuable. I've thought of solving some of that fear by piling all of it in a box and giving it to Goodwill. Then at least I can feel safe in knowing they weeded through it, and the useful stuff is getting use somewhere. That way my own ignorance at least benefited someone else and didn't end up adding to the landfill.

I don't have to worry about that for now though. John said he would help for an hour a week, so maybe I can get some of that crap out of here or at least organized. If he poops out on me, then he has no cause for complaint when all the worksheets and notes he saved from his college history class suddenly disappear. I hope they disappear without my help, but if they need my help, they will get it.

We were supposed to start work this weekend. I had full plans to do so, but we putzed around all day Saturday and didn't get it done. That was OK though, because we still had Sunday. Of course, that didn't account for the fact I was running a 5K that day.

I thought I could do both. My running partner and I figured we'd have to walk part of the 5K anyway, because neither of us have been running lately. And how hard is jogging/walking 3.1 miles? Well, I am very proud to say I ran the whole 5K. It took me near forever, and running partner's boyfriend finished the 10K only 5 minutes faster than we did the 5K, but I am just happy I ran the whole way and didn't die. All the walkers that passed us mid-race, and made us feel like the slowest people on earth, petered out toward the end, and we finished before them. I'm sure some walkers had faster times than we did running, but the ones around us didn't. I cannot say how good it felt to start running again and to complete a whole 5K race. I think it is just what I needed to start lacing up those running shoes again. Running partner and I are now meeting on Wednesdays to run together again.

I didn't feel bad after the race. In fact, I felt quite good. I stopped by MIL's for some scrapbook paper, so I don't spend any more money on scrapbook supplies, (I've spent too much this month already.) and hung out a bit, getting piled with more and more supplies the longer I stayed. I went for two sheets of paper. I left with a stack of stuff. I stopped by the convenience store on the way home for a snack, since I hadn't eaten a whole lot yet that day. Then I went home and flopped on the couch with my goodies and watched the rest of the Steelers game. I probably shouldn't have sat down, because that's when the achiness set in, and then I got drowsy. I slept the rest of the afternoon into early evening. Then it was dinner, clean-up, homework, get ready for school. There was no time for basement cleaning.

It's possible John set me up though. I had to get up early to meet running partner before the race, and John set the alarm clock for the time I said I wanted to be up, not accounting for the fact he has the stupid clock set 20 minutes fast. I didn't realize it either until I got up at what I thought was 6:00, got ready, looked at the computer clock and saw the time was 5:54. I wanted to pump something nasty through his little sleep apnea breathing apparatus for cheating me of an extra 20 minutes of sleep, but I refrained and scrounged for some breakfast instead. I think he knew that would be just enough to make me fall asleep after I got home, so there wouldn't be time to clean. He was also a little too encouraging when I said I thought I'd stop by MIL's. He probably conspired with her to keep me there so long by giving me all kinds of stuff too. Luckily, I know John is not that sneaky. He does have a unique knack for weaseling his way out of things though. He agreed to do the cleaning next weekend. I'll be much more alert to his wily ways then.

Rather than make this even longer with basement photos and commentary, I'll save that for tomorrow. This time I really will put it up tomorrow too.