So I remembered, last night, that Monday, I also swept the floor, and I think I swept last week and didn’t give myself credit for it. With the dog, the living room floor gets particularly, discouragingly disgusting. (He’s a chewer, so there are chunks of whatever he’s shredded and I end up sweeping up dustpans full of stuff, even if I have recently swept.) Let’s tack on another 10 minutes to my time from Monday.
Last night, I did some out-and-about chores— I took a box of stuff and a big bag of clothes to the donation center (though I forgot to give them a lampshade and it’s making me a little crazy.) I tried to return some equipment to my cable provider but arrived just after they closed. I needed to shop for the class I teach— they asked for a Valentine’s party, and I can’t give them what they really want, which is the time to hang out and enjoy each other, but I can give them candy and special things to munch on as I fly through 90 minutes of material in 45 minutes, so they can go watch an instructional video mandated by the administration for the other 45 minutes. So a lot of my shopping had that in mind. And then when I got home, I had to prep the material I was teaching, but I did that while I did laundry. If you count the time bringing things to the donation center and the cable company, and the laundry, plus some concentrated attention on litterboxes and I Scotch-garded the couch, plus my bed-making, let’s say that I spent an hour or so on the house, last night. I should definitely have done more— I didn’t go to yoga with a friend, so that I’d have time to work on it— but I honestly don’t feel that bad about it. I did need to work on the lesson and at some point, I did need to get the stuff I had cleared out, out of the house. I have a small window Thursday and a window Saturday morning to work on it before the company comes, and I think I can get things presentable by then. I’m holding out hope that I can do it without much shoving random stuff in closets, even.