Forget the robbers, drug lords and Russian spies that used to torment me. Forget the cat (well, I could never actually forget The Cat) Forget any previous post where I lamented the loss of sleep due to some creepy crawly staring at me in the middle of the night. (For new readers, nothing creepy or crawly actually ever stared at me. Except the little light on the Roku). But you get my point.
My new nightmare is The Remodel.
It haunts me at night in my sleep, on my way to work, during work, on my way home from work, in the shower....you see where I'm going with this.
I used to daydream about kitchen cabinets with secret pull out shelves and organization drawers that would keep my life in perfect order. Now I find myself at work in a daze, debating the best method for washing a large amount of dishes: in the tub or on the porch? I mean, water is water right? But if I wash the dishes outside, I'd have to dry them immediately and bring them in. But I could wash quickly! But if I wash in the tub, I can just let them hang out for awhile then pack them in the office to bring down once the kitchen is complete.
First world problems? You bet. Do I fear being judged for this? Not even a little bit.
For the unsympathetic I have this:
And for the entire world who knows I'm probably being a little bit dramatic I say, you're right. Here's what the kitchen actually looks like right now:
Not too bad, I'll admit. The clutter is gone and we basically have an empty room.
The Deputy has pretty much done everything on his own at this point. I say "pretty much" because I remember being a huge help and busting out my Hulk muscles when we tore those cabinets out. (That's EXACTLY what I REMEMBER. Don't verify these facts with him).
And because he loves me so much, he hung the white board calendar back on it's wall already! That boy really knows how to get to my heart.
So everything at this point is rosy, we're just waiting for the cabinets to arrive. Which I stopped believing. Rick (you know who you are!) is on my list with all the other things I stopped believing in when I was in Kindergarten. He and Santa can hold hands and frolic around in the land of non-belief. I say we just live with our new Phantom Cabinets, leave all the dishes in the dining room, eat on the concrete floor and call it a day.
The other day, The Deputy and I were watching TV, he looked around at the piles of stuff everywhere, the current fridge in the entry way, the new fridge in the dining room, etc. etc. etc. and said, "It looks like we live in an episode of Hoarders!" And I wept. On the inside, of course, because it's TRUE.
No amount of sweeping, Swiffering and rolling up carpets is going to help. The same is true for all of my drama. Will this stop me? NO SUCH LUCK! (No, I didn't need to use all caps-but I wanted people to read it the way I would say it-in a loud voice, shaking a fist)
"The new kitchen will be worth it!" they said. "It'll be finished soon!" they said. "Your cabinets will arrive!" they said (whilst laughing, leaning back in a swivel chair and petting a furry, white cat).
And yet here I am, up to my knees in dust, sweeping away my hopes and dreams.
Actually--I'm at work, pretending to be doing something productive and double checking my face to make sure I'm not acting out this monologue while I type it out. I've been told I don't have a Poker Face. Which is believable, since I don't play Poker. But I was also once promised to recieve cabinets and we all know how that turned out, so I don't really know what to believe any more.