Thursday, July 14, 2011

I'm Heather. I'm Disgusting.

Mike's been traveling all over God's green earth lately, for work, and I've been alone in the house. In some ways, it isn't so bad. I miss him like crazy, but I've been staying busy enough that it's not too bad.

So in an effort to avoid the crushing loneliness, I've been working out lately. Like, every day. It's not that I'm bored (I mean, I am), it's that I'm going to be thirty-one in mere days and let's face it - no one's getting any younger!

So as soon as I get my ass home from work, I change into my workout gear and I head to the gym with Kelly. Working out with a friend is pretty much the best plan. We push each other to GET GOING when one of us would rather sit on the couch. Luckily, the lack of motivation seems to hit each of us on opposite days.

Of course, there was that time that I showed up at her house with nachos and sangria when I was supposed to be picking her up for the gym.

So my routine has been working quite well, though the house has not been faring as such. I try to keep it clean, I do, but it's hard!

Basically, by Thursday, the house is a trash dump, and when I get home from the gym there is nothing I'd rather do than pass out on the couch. Instead, the night melds into a tornado of vacuums and cleaning products. I can't let Mike think that he's shacked up with a dirtier Tasmanian Devil.

Time to destroy the house, yay!

I mean, seriously. I am a slob. Why I can't seem to be able to clean up after myself on a daily basis is beyond me, especially since I am usually so organized.

The dining table? Not for eating! It's a dumping ground for anything and everything!

The kitchen counter? That's where everything goes that I determine belongs elsewhere than in the fridge or pantry.

The fridge? Oh God. If you're ever at my house, promise that you'll never look in the fridge.

Promise me.

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