I've been under a little under the weather, over here. I had a … procedure whose details I will keep from you, because I don't want you to have to know. I want you to sleep the sleep of people who are unaware that doctors do BAD THINGS LIKE THAT. I'll change the subject now. No, wait, I just want to say: OW. YEEESH. Also: OW.
Now here I am, feeling bad but not bad enough for Scott to stay home and tend to me, damn it. Only bad enough to sigh deeply and clutch my abdomen whenever I think Scott might be looking.
As a result of my state of discomfort and post-traumatic stress, everything around me has turned to chaos. School forms didn't get filled out, dinner didn't get made last night, Henry's socks are on the coffee table . The unholy combination of cat and dog hair, which until this day could be beaten back to the corners and shadows of the house, has taken over. I full expect this cat/dog amalgam to start demanding dinner.
Today I was lying on the couch staring at the horrors around me, trying to motivate myself to get something done. Then a voice spoke unto me: USE THE TIMER. The timer, that great motivator of small children, which has gotten Henry to accomplish such Herculean tasks as putting on his pants or folding napkins for dinner. So I set the timer! I set it for ten minutes, and for those ten minutes I cleaned up, and do you know what? At the end of that ten minutes, my house actually appeared clean (not that it was, but never mind that) and I felt like I had accomplished something! Then I went back to sleep for another hour or three.
I used the timer all day. With the help of my new friend Timey the Timer (yeah, I gave him a name) I emptied the dishwasher (then napped), made soup (then had a brief snooze) , paid some bills (insert synonym for falling asleep), attempted to write something but fell asleep within seconds (oh well).
In conclusion, this timer shit works! Also, I am no more complex than my five-year-old. Actually, who am I kidding, he's more complex than I could ever hope to be.