Getting Organized, Getting On with My Life

A long time ago, it seems, I could afford a cleaning lady. It was awesome. I had someone come in either once a week or every other week to help me with the heavy lifting. I loved the feeling of coming home to a clean smelling, dust-free house. That was months ago, maybe even a year ago. I can actually remember the very last time I had my house cleaned by someone else and it was around February 11. I remember because it was close to my 42nd birthday.

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I am not going to lie. I've said it before and I'm not embarrassed to say it. I hate housework. Not just a little. I mean I REALLY hate housework. I hate cleaning, washing dishes, doing laundry, folding clothes, ironing clothes. You name it and I will tell you I hate it. I'm much happier reading and writing.

I hate gardening and anything yard related. I detest it.  Of course I would love it if someone did all these things for me. I would love it if I had a cleaning lady again and had a professional landscaper come in and design my yard. I have such a huge yard that I could have a beautiful garden. I'd love it, but I don't have it.

Back in May I blogged on my skirt! blog about getting un-unorganized. (if you read that blog you'll understand the why) It's July and I'm barely starting on this project. I keep saying I'm going to do it and I don't. This and that gets in the way. I get in my way. My anxiety gets in the way because I just get overwhelmed with the whole thing.

Well this week I was finally able to somewhat overcome that overwhelmed feeling. I approached it by tackling one room per day. I started with the kitchen, then the dining room, the living room and now I have to tackle the hall and the restroom. I got to the point when I said enough is enough. I have to get myself organized in order to get on with my life. After the restroom I am going to start on the even bigger challenge of tackling my bedroom. My bedroom alone is a week long project.

I have literally been letting this get in the way of my moving on with my life. I feel like if I can do this then I can move on. It's weird and it's a psychological thing I'm sure, but it is what it is. I have let this get bigger than me to the point that I don't even want to accept visitors.

My house is a symbol of my failed marriage. I've always felt like that. It's not that my marriage fell apart because we never remodeled this house. It's that my marriage was like this house or, this house is an example of what my marriage was like. We could never fix it... We said we would but something always came up and we never did. We had a very "all or nothing" approach to it. It seemed like we either wanted to fix everything at once, or nothing at all. We couldn't tackle one project at a time.

I was talking to my father about it this week and I told him that I really want to remodel this house on my own. I want to be able to say I did it and on my own. It will be the final self-therapy that I need. When I do this I will feel like I've truly moved on.