A funny little night: odd, off, and domestic---drinking cold ginger tea and procrastinating. You know I must be procrastinating since I'm writing. But I'm also doing other bad procrastinating chores, the type that occur to me when I'm putting off something and casting about for an excuse. Oh, tonight is a great night to clean out the spice cabinet, I might think to myself, deliriously ignoring a more pressing task.* When was even the last time I ran cleaner through the coffee machine?
This isn't some backdoor brag, like the boy I knew in college who complained to me once how annoying it was, the charming quirk of his personality that caused him to spontaneously speak in flawless, fluent Japanese when he felt strong emotions. My procrastinating chores are compulsive and disruptive. For a great example, I just tenderly hand-washed all my bras, every single one, and hung them to dry. I felt pretty good until it occurred to me that I might like to wear a bra to work tomorrow. Mmm. Dry quickly, little ones.
Still, I kind of like being in moods like this. I'm up in my tower of a room sorting my little boxes and tidying. I brushed out my hair, which has gotten too long.
*I've got a more pressing task for your mom.
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