Rather than fuss at said son for the state of his bedroom, spent some time helping him make his bed.
Made my own bed, picked the clothes up off of the floor, and put them in the hamper.
Enjoyed an afternoon in the sunshine. I mean, really felt the sun on my skin an’ thang. Thought about how noon used to be the hottest time of day, but now, it seems to be between 2 and 3.
Filed and painted my nails with sister-friends.
Cleared out more of the back space in my apartment, chipping said paint job, but getting closer to actually utilizing the space in my open plan kitchen for more than a holding space for crap.
Washed and hung a load of clothes.
Instead of posting a status about how much I loved her, I called talked to my sister for her birthday. Found out that my dogphew, Plinko Aloysius in all his “Iain’tnoponkbiatch-ness”, managed to knock out two teeth in what my sister thinks was a bark and charge the fence battle with the much larger, neighboring dog.
I planned my next vacation.
I Wrote.
This is Day 2.
Oh. So I realize that these blogs post to my “official” writer Facebook page.
This app allows me to see comments and reply, though I’m not sure if they transfer to the Facebook, or just on the blog.
Oh, oh. Please do subscribe to the blog. The link is under that great photo of me, shot by Lamar Landers.
If I make it this two weeks, who knows? I may do two more.
After several series of unfortunate events, I’ve decided to get out of a longstanding, toxic relationship.
First time, it was my marriage; then, cigarettes. Now, it’s the Facebook.
We all know the list of reasons why:
It’s too time consuming
It disconnects us from real life engagement and experiences.
It fosters false sense of community
It breaks up relationships (friends, family, business and intimate), as
It is a field of ego and misunderstanding.
Some of us have mastered the Facebook as a marketing tool. Some in kind, have mastered using the Facebook as a platform to spread their mission. It’s a fact that you can reach an audience of millions, with a single click.
And then there’s me. I use the Facebook as a something to do, when I could be doing something I should be doing. A distraction. My personal email substitute. A journal.
To date, the Facebook has been the single most comprehensive method of journaling for me. I go there and write something, daily. When I wake up, I ‘book. I scan and scroll. Search hashtags of interest and share to my wall, things that either catch my interest, or resonate with me, or hell, make me laugh.
This is my justification.
I send my friends inbox messages that say “you’s a brilliant, fine-ass muhfucka, just in case no one else reminds you today”, because we all thrive with acknowledgement. I’ve sent complete strangers messages in response to a status that says “you are extraordinarily brave for sharing your story. your voice is necessary. i’m here if you need to talk”
I can look back through years, and know the stories behind each post. Sometimes I share the stories. Most times I don’t.
All the while, I’m working for the Facebook, for free. (This is a tangent I’ll revisit another time.)
And still, roughly 24 hours ago, I did it. I deactivated my account.
Me: Because I spend too much time on the Facebook!
The Facebook: Well, we have filter options that allow you to customize the content to your page. You sure you wanna deactivate?
Me: Yes.
The Facebook: Oh. Sorry. You can’t deactivate your account because you are the primary developer of apps associated with your account. You either have to delete those platforms, or, assign someone else to be the developer.
Me: Fine. Delete the platforms.
The Facebook: Are you sure?
Me: Yes.
The Facebook: Oh, sorry. You can’t deactivate your account because you are the primary administrator of groups and pages on the Facebook. You either have to delete those groups and pages, or assign someone else to be the developer.
Me: Fine. Delete the groups.
The Facebook: Well you know, if someone else in the group decides to claim administratorship over your group, when you return, you’ll have to ask them for your admin status back.
Me: Fine.
The Facebook: Are you sure?
Me: Yes.
The Facebook: Before you go, it’d be really awful if something happened to you while you were
away. Have you considered choosing a beneficiary for your account, in case tragedy strikes?
Me: Uh, sure.
The Facebook: Would you like to send them a message, explaining this honor and ask them if they’d
like to talk about it? You may want to keep your account active for
their reply!
Me: Nah. I’m good. She knows.
The Facebook: Well if you’re sure. Good luck. You’ll be back. Until then.
The withdrawal was instantaneous. Within the first hour, I’d picked up my phone to check my
The Facebook is stalking me.
timeline.
Six. Times.
If I were to be generously honest, I’d say probably 10 – 12 times.
And just when I thought I’d eased into a comfortable space within the discomfort:
My goal during the hiatus, is to direct more energy into writing and sharing. Making consistent use of this space that I have paid for and played around with for years.
This is, for now, my substitute for the Facebook. We’ll see if I can divert my focus into quirking and musing, for myself.
I’ll also be chronicling the bat-shitness that I anticipate with the waves of withdrawal to come.
But I love order, so I try. I really really try to have this “stronger than dirt”, “power of Pinesol”, kinda living space. The kitchen though, is the bane of my existence.
I absolutely hate cleaning the kitchen.
I blame my lack of domestic savoir-faire on being a creative. You know, being one of those artsty types. Then, it was a lack of time. Then, a lack of interest. Followed by post-partum depression coupled with bereavement. That became depression, and overall malaise.
I’d have spurts of perfect kitchen order. My sink, perfectly shined. Dishes washed, dried and put away. Magazine ready counters with home grown herbal accoutrements; after all, who doesn’t love the smell of freshly cut basil or lavender? Oh, and isn’t rosemary divine!!
I was a devout follower of The FlyLady for a good while, and, she’s really on to something.
I’m just not into cleaning.
But, I had a spurt yesterday. A cleaning out of the refrigerator spurt, and this is what I discovered:
My wants, my reality, my beliefs… and my mold.
Yep. Last month’s dinner, neatly tucked away, in my Family Dollar tupperware.
I mean, WHO lives like this?
I do. I spend lots of my time talking, reading, writing, laughing, teaching, and mom-ing. I don’t even realize that I’ve run low on storagewears until after I’ve mommed, and I’m putting away leftovers in the name of not wasting food.
When I get down time, I’m completely down. As in, asleep.
But remember, I try. So somewhere in between all of that, I make attempts at organizing.
Making my kitchen look like the commercials. Because all of the moms in the commercials have their entire lives together, and even when they don’t, it’s nothing a fresh pot of coffee the snap of a finger and a Wet-Jet mopping system can’t solve.
So, I put on a pot of coffee. I wash dishes. Dry them and put them away. Match all of the storage containers to their tops. Which brings me to this damned bowl of corned beef and cabbage stench, and this dilemma:
I just paired all of this damn Family Dollar tupperware. I don’t want to throw it away, because that’s wasteful right?
Right?
Ask me how many hot damns I gave about a waste, in that moment.
You see, I knew full well, (we all know) that opening that little click top bowl, would ruin my day. Would ruin my son’s day.
The smell that was trapped underneath that little click top, would be the backdrop to life as we knew it for the next 12 hours.
And let’s face it: A 24 piece click top tupperware from the Family Dollar, costs about $12. Which is 50 cents per piece. That means that that bowl, is a dollar.
You know I threw that shit away, right?
Made a list of things to get from the Family Dollar.
And decided to stop making excuses for the fact that I just don’t like cleaning, and take small steps to clean, like it or not. One such step:
Do one task a day. This takes the pressure out of an otherwise overwhelming situation. If I approach the feat of cleaning my home as a single task, I’d be swept into a black hole of despair. Knowing that I have to clean the kitchen on Wednesday, means that I have hours to get my kitchen done. And hours is enough time to get distracted, and still get the job done. More often than not, because there’s so much time left over, I wind up tackling some other housekeeping task, though there’s no demand to do so.
And, I’m giving The Fly Lady another shot. Her’s is the only system that works for me. She even factors drinking water into the mix. I dig her. She makes cleaning, not feel so:
