Everyone knows that person--the girl who dates every loser in a 120 mile radius...the person who forks over a billion dollars on exercise equipment, but the only workout they ever get on their treadmill is when they jump up and down because they stubbed their toe on said treadmill.
Yeah, that is totes me with housework. Subscriptions to organization and lifestyle magazines? Check. Browsing blogs and websites that are filled with enviable (and clean) spaces? Check. Bouts of manic cleaning with a toothbrush that end in lists, charts, and resolutions? Check.
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| sourced from one of my faves, the inspired room. |
In "Get Real", I explored the thought that being unhappy with my house was really just another way to be unhappy with my life; to judge myself and miss all the REAL beauty that surrounds me. And I was not off base with this. Our consumer society screams at us to be discontent-- to make our homes better and more tricked out. Loving your life as it is would kill the GDP. Do you really want to have all that numerical blood on your hands?
BUT....flexibility is a sign of mental health. So, I am tinkering with the idea that happiness may lay somewhere between coveting material items and trying to see the beauty in a tumble week of dog hair...that I don't show pride in my beautiful home by getting on Ikea.com OR by writing haiku about tub rings...but rather by, (gasp), mopping my floors.
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I hope that the Brady Bunch and Sam the Butcher knew how lucky they were...image from bradywikia |
Channel your inner-Alice and give me your best tips and tricks, whatever puts you in the frame of mind to get it on...
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