Blah

That's how I feel right now. Blah. Mental illness sucks. No other way to put it. And unless they've been there, nobody else understands you. My family doesn't get why I have such problems with the state of the house. I tried to get them to read the book on compulsive hoarding, but I don't think they really read all of the book. The kitchen counter I was so proud of in my last January post lasted about another month. Once the kids' birthdays came, everything went downhill again. The counters are buried in stuff again. And I have so little desire to do anything about it.

Have I mentioned the beeping sound in the bedroom? There is something in the corner by the TV that beeps every now and then. Like an electronic timer going off, but it only beeps once. Then maybe it will beep again a minute or two later, or it might not beep again for weeks. It just beeped. I keep saying I'm going to clean until I find it, but I haven't. I swear I tried to once before, and didn't find anything in the area where the noise seems to come from. For now, the beeping will remain a mystery.

Ali has been inspired to "clean." (My mom had the kids and I watch one of those hoarding shows on Saturday.) [There's the beep again...] All E.J. did was mock the women in the show. I sat there knowing exactly how they felt. When they would ask the women in the show what there stress level was when they were trying to throw something away, I knew exactly what they were going to answer. DH watched it, too. We haven't discussed it. I'm not sure how much he got out of it of just what I go through. I probably need professional help. But we know how hard it is to admit we need it. And the stress if letting someone else in my house is unbearable.

Anyway, back to Ali. She stayed up late two nights this week sorting through all of here stuff in the livingroom. Filling up container after container, taking it up to her room, and dumping it in one corner. And there's still more stuff in the livingroom. So her room is an absolute disaster again. But I guess she figures she has to start somewhere, and once she gets everything out of the livingroom, we'll go up to her room and sort through the piles of stuff she's carted up there.

My mother has offered to pay her $1/day for cleaning. But what do I get for cleaning? Nothing...nothing tangable, that is. I keep thinking I need to work out some sort of contract with DH (with monetary rewards?), but he never sees the value in such things. But who am I accountable to right now? Nobody, but myself. We see how well that's worked out. I keep giving myself the day off...

I guess I've been trying to take care of some of the mental clutter lately. Getting some tasks done that I've been putting off, like filling out papers for summer camp, writing checks, clearing out the DVR, finishing up bookmarks I started months ago. Guess that may not seem like work to most people. But the mental clutter is just as immobilizing as the physical stuff. Until some of those roadblocks are overcome, the rest won't get any easier.

Hard to believe school is almost over, and summer's almost here. Maybe I shouldn't be looking forward to school being out as much as I am. I guess it's more that I'm looking forward to being able to spend lazy summer afternoons at the pool (reading, beading, quilting), while the kids swim. I am not looking forward to the mornings of boredom the kids will go through until the pool opens. I'm hoping to use the mornings for sorting and the afternoons for the fun stuff. I was hoping to have more kid-free-house time in the mornings, but the summer camps didn't line up right. Guess all I can hope for is a week of rain when the kids don't have camp, so I can send the kids to grandma's for the week (so they won't miss the pool). Hmmm...need to look at the summer calendar again and figure out when might be a good time to ship off the kids.

Okay, I've rambled enough for one evening. I really don't care if anyone reads this or not. It's either I type it here or write it in a journal. And it's a heck of a lot easier to type (even though I love writing, just for the sake of writing letters...I know, I'm weird). I'm not afraid to share what I'm going through. But I'm not sure if I could say anything out loud--I've always had trouble with that. I have no trouble with typing it.
I still feel blah tonight, even after writing this all out. That part still sucks.