Week has been busy and rather stressful. We're still packing. I took a day to breakdown and clean every surface in the house because it's gotten too dirty for me with the contractors in and out, the things coming in and out of the house and everything being drug away from walls and removed. I've been sick most of the last week too, some miserable virus I picked up, leading me to experience that horrible phenomenon of 'Which end do I throw on the toilet?'
Wednesday, the last full day I felt faint and dizzy every time I stood up and could not keep food in, I had to go to UVA to have tests run and see my newish lung doctor. The tests proved to be quite the bizarre scenario. Picture, if you will, me already very shambling and dizzy, like a dyspeptic zombie with a bad hair day, being strapped with medical devices measuring heart action, lung action, oxygen levels and other things and told 'Walk as fast as you can for six minutes here in the hallway' I had to ask 'You want that with or without puking?'
Started having a bout of exercised induced asthma during one of the test and I had to stop myself from laughing and asking the tech if they ever bothered to look at my chart. I've had issues with deep drops in my O2 stats during exercise since early childhood. I'd only be surprised if I didn't.
The tests and appointments took all day.
I haven't heard back on the tests yet, but I know from the years I worked at the clinic that not hearing back on your test results immediately means that it's usually good news. What happens when you go to your hospital and get tests run is if it's bad, very bad, the tech running the test will immediately phone the ordering physician before faxing or emailing over the preliminary results to the doctor and you ending up with an immediate phone call from the doctor. None of that. Good.
This week after we got home and resumed packing Jim found a box filled with a slaughtered forest of paper holding some of the world's most cringe-worthy fan fiction I'd written nearly twenty years ago. I was mortified. I thought I'd thrown all of that away years ago. That silly fiction was a reaction of some of the internal rebellion going on during my years at the old church. My dirty little secret and my reaction to being forced into an unnatural role in a tiny box.
Which leads me to being annoyed with the writings of one Lori Alexander of The Transformed Wife. In the course of lining up posts for No Longer Quivering this week and still being slammed with packing and cleaning and dealing with the remodel a post of Lori's popped up on my computer. She was claiming that many women brag about keeping an unclean house. That's the biggest bunch of bullshit I've read in a long damn time.
Even at my sickest while I was bouncing vomit off the tiles, or right now dodging wallpaper shreds and packing boxes I've never been happy about having any messiness at the house. I don't think anyone is happy to have a untidy or dirty house enough to brag about it.
In fact, I'd venture to say no one has bragged about keeping an unorganized home. It's pure Pearl made up idea and claim.
What it is, at least for myself and many folks I know, is that the cleanliness index of the home depends on a large number of factors. Who's there, who's trekking in and out, the activities of the family, the needs of the family and the whole time factor. Most people are somewhere on the continuum between the two extremes of the sterile perfect eat off the floor level of cleanliness Lori thinks everyone should have, and the show she's cited as an example of what not to do 'Hoarders'. Most people are fine with being in a state of flux, knowing that every single day is different and they aren't stuck in some frustrating set of must-dos.
You'd think someone with serious medical concerns like Alexander might understand that life is about more than being able to safely lick the floor and not pick up germs. Oh yeah, I forgot, she had a nanny and a domestic. Easy to keep the house looking showroom fresh when the paid help does it.
Fuck you Lori for trying to place impossible to fulfill standards on things you yourself do not even do. You know what you can do with my leftover box of Swiffer pads from mopping earlier today.