There comes a time in a person's life, when the natural desire to neglect the un-fun things (housework) is subsumed by the distaste, nay, even disgust for the current state of affairs (chaos).
Which is to say, after contemplating my running list of 'chores that really ought to be done Real Soon Now', I reluctantly prodded my sleep-dazed self off to work at an earlier-than-usual hour yesterday so I could return home early and tackle some of them. Surprisingly, this worked largely as planned, despite the late-day sudden urgent need for a report no one had thought to mention. So:
I mowed. Granted I could probably have neglected it until next week, but for once I thought it might be fun, or at least novel, to not be in the running for 'neighborhood yard most likely to be mistaken for a pasture'.
Then I weeded. We're not talking dandelions here- nope, I was after bigger game- those immense woody and thorny vines that had been taking over the yard. This proved unexpectedly easy- a bunch of them had extended their rapturous roots into the compost pile. So instead of engaging in tug-of-war, I could just pull them out out of the leaves and coil them up- yards and yards of roots, and then dump them in the yard waste bag. (I have discovered to my chagrin that some things cannot and should not be composted- it just encourages them.) Some of the vines were bittersweet and I cut more of them out of the fence without mercy, to be discarded with the rest.
Then I turned my attention to the inside. I washed dishes. I paid bills. I tidied. I did laundry. And for the pièce de résistance, I cleaned the bathroom.
It was this point that my husband arrived home from work. Observing my activity with a mildly furrowed brow, he asked, "Are you feeling unusually ambitious today?"
Okay, so I don't have these kinds of attacks very often. After dinner, I ignored the rest of the list and cast on a new hat. I wouldn't want to go overboard with this cleaning thing.