I don't know whether it's because the weather outside is too gorgeous to waste, or I'm burned out on work, or my crazy-pill cocktail isn't quite what it needs to be to keep me from going loosey-goosey...but I am just in a funk. I get to work every morning thinking, "I would rather be anywhere than here."
It's not the work itself. I rather enjoy checking for off-kilter grammar and misplaced punctuation. I'm sick and twisted that way. It's just that I feel like the world is waiting, and I'm just sitting in an artificially climate-controlled and lighted cubicle, missing out on fun.
I stayed up until 1 a.m. last night (this morning??), baking Tim a German chocolate cake and cleaning some clutter that found its way into my sewing room/office after a friend bought our baby dresser that had been doubling as my freelance business's storage. Until about 12:30 a.m., you couldn't actually see the top of the guest bed. It was covered with piles of magazines that have stories I wrote in them, as well as heaps of old computer equipment and cords and clarinet paraphernalia and holiday cards from three years ago and a bunch of art supplies (note to self: pastels and charcoal sketching -- yet another thing I'd rather be doing). Those things are off the bed now. Hooray! (Nevermind that they're now stacked on the floor and other assorted tabletops in the room...at least it's SEMI-ORGANIZED chaos.)
I think everyone should be given a week off from work to do nothing but clean and sort and organize and get the house "just so," so that the rest of the year we could enjoy the space. I might need two weeks. The basement is a pit. Like the first 25 years of my life exploded. Mom and Dad brought all the boxes they'd been storing in their house a while back and I really need to sort through the crap. What's the shelf life of a junior-year-high-school term paper on Elizabeth Barrett Browning? Would I regret it someday if I tossed it? How about Teen Beat posters of Wham! and Scott Baio?
Maybe I do need my head examined (or my meds adjusted) if I would rather be scouring my teen angst from an unfinished basement than be at work. Of course, it's July in Iowa...the basement's a lot cooler than most places. And it would be work I chose to do, not something someone forced me to do.
For now, it's back to the land of split infinitives and subject-verb agreement. The fun world of decluttering will have to wait.