I really should be cleaning, sorting, folding and scrubbing right now ... But I'm stalling instead.
At this moment, I'd rather not be productive or maid-ish, instead, I'm reluctantly cracking the whip from the semi-stationary position of this computer chair. I'm verifying Facebook statuses, commenting on graduation photos, and responding to blogs ... not directing clean-up efforts.
Instead, I'm being "gifted" with the sounds of unsupervised squabbling and muffled (not very successful!) attempts at co-brother tidying. Surprise, surprise, the boys were more resistant to creating order than I was and somehow managed to have a rather tense argument over one brother's choice to ditch some boxer shorts ("they're too small; I won't wear them" vs. "you're being ridiculous; they still fit"!). I guess their ability to avoid work was gleaned from the master!
However, the daughter is quietly plugging away. She's "shoveling" out weeks of living in final exam hell with no time to keep track of the mundane ... her room could have easily been classified as Superfund site! She has dutifully donned her white bio hazard suit and her toxic chem goggles and is slugging away at clearing out the bigger, chunkier bits of adolescent debris. It's appalling, really.
But then there's my room. Disgusting, actually. It looks like a laundry mat recently attacked by madmen and household-order anarchists. It's quite amazing how much clean laundry I can throw into unidentifiable piles with a rate of wrinkles that rivals any old 80 year old man's crinkled countenance!
I must, nay am compelled to, stop right here. I can't take the guilt any more. The beautiful weather outside is mocking me for continuing to put off this drudgery any longer when I know that my reward will be lounging poolside with a good book.
So, here I go ... my useless housework is a'callin' ...