Mr. Gatsby Gives the Green Light

The doing of things which need doing has never been a strong suit of mine.  It has always seemed to me that when you push things to the side, more often than not, you can make a new path for yourself and the things that were put aside actually are fine being there.

But, that’s not always the case.

Tomorrow is Monday.  The official, branded, national Day of Getting Things Which Need Doing Done.  It’s why we all dread it.  Whatever it is, once Monday comes to a close, we’ll be at a resolution with something or at least a foot deeper into the shit we wanted to handle by 9:00am.

But you can do something to help the Monday Horror.  You can make Sunday a good day and let Sunday help out Monday.  Vent some of the pressure by doing a little pre-planning.  That’s the idea, anyway.  And today is sort of ending up working out.  We’ve gotten some cleaning done and it eases my fevered brain not to keep my eyes constantly scanning for the huge overhaul that always needs doing and never gets done on account of its unbelievable hugeness.   The cabinets have fixtures, or at least most of the do.  I took out the trash.  I have room to walk in my room, I’m doing this entry, there’s only one person still mad at me…things are okay in that regard.

Tonight, I’m going to pick out clothes for tomorrow, thank you, Mr. Gatsby and I’m going to get something figured out for food.  It’s True Blood Day tomorrow so a certain percentage of time will be devoted to that, but afterwards, there may just be time for a little in-home walking with everyone’s favorite muted exercise expert…good old What’s-her-name?  Debbie?  Sandy?   Leslie!  That’s it.  Me and Leslie Sansone may just hit the shag tomorrow.  Ahem.  No promises, but right now, it sounds fairly decent.  Get a little blood in my legs.

And somehow, I think, I’ll call my mother between here and there and then and now.  This is probably the biggest mountain made out of the smallest molehill and I can see that it could easily turn into some kind of world war because neither of us will give up.  So the Solomon of my conscience asks me why I’m doing this, and if I’d be the one to cut the boy in half just to be half-right.  You know the story.   I know my feelings were hurt, but I’m okay now, more or less.   I don’t know how to express it right, how the series of events happened not unlike a retelling of Thirteen Days and all of a sudden we go from me being angry at my sister for treating me like an alternating piggy bank and punching bag and how she had and has absolutely nothing to say on the matter and me trying to handle that issue by sitting quietly and getting engrossed in my book (A Clash of Kings – tell me you can’t read that for three hours without saying a word to anyone) – how we go from that – to, me hurting her feelings and treating her horribly.

How do we make the leap?  We just do.  It’s a family and it just does the stupid shit it does out of its own amorphous sense of reason.

I’ve been reading the past two hundred entries lately and I don’t want to carry pettiness around.  I’m going to be petty and do stupid things, but frankly, I don’t have this kind of time to waste on what this time next year will be nothing but a notation in this process, a blip.

My life is about more than blips.  It’s about being responsible and doing things which need doing…even on a Monday.