A Comfortable Disease

For the past few days, I have been busily – okay, tortoisely – clearing stairs and shelves to put things on.

That is, I’ve been clearing shelves to put things on, and then also clearing stairs. Not clearing stairs to put things on. I would never do that. I mean, I’d put things there. I’d put things there as soon as look at them – and a hell of a lot sooner than walk up, I tell you what – but I would never clear them for the purpose. The attic stairs are usually a great big piley mess and (not those kinds of piles, gross!) and I’m not even usually the one who does it, anyway. Although I am usually the one who clears it off. Which now I’ve done. Again. See?

God, they’re ugly.

Anyway, so I started with the stairs, and since then I’ve been doing one shelf every day. I told myself that’s all I have to do until it’s finished. Or Saturday. Whichever comes first.

Which do you think is going to come first?

Well, hey, those top two shelves are empty. And, you know, the stairs.

Besides, so what? For that matter, I do not hereby swear to actually clean-sweep the things on Saturday. I know I promised myself I would and everything, but it wouldn’t be the first time that I haven’t kept my word. I’m pretty well good and g-d used to it by now. Hell, I’ve damn near come to expect it of me. After all, you don’t end up with an ass like mine by keeping every last this-time-I-mean-it vow.

Meanwhile, Johnny has been cleaning. He started with a tear through the house with the vacuum cleaner (suffice to say: it’s been a while) and then a whole day of congratulating himself and lipping his cookies to a soggy mess after each bite for fear of getting a single crumb on his clean floor. I told him for christ’s sake why didn’t he just go get a saucer, and he told me for christ’s sake why didn’t I just shut my bleedin’ hole, and then we both collapsed into a fit of hysterics. Still catching his breath, he wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his right hand – which may be why he missed the trash can with his left and dumped cookie-crumbs from the empty package all over the damn place. Ooh, I nearly shat myself on that one!

(“Biscuits,” he says. “Not cookies. Biscuits.” Not in this country, my friend! Why don’t you shut your own?)

Anyway, after vacuuming he went down cellar. He’s been organizing to make room to bring the cabinets down. Not that there wasn’t room, per se, but, well –

That was one of the first pictures I ever took – sometime around last April, I believe, the day the furnace blew. It’s gotten worse down there since then, what with all the Kids and Outies tromping in and out, but I didn’t think to get a picture before Johnny headed down.

I can imagine how that must disappoint you, but think of this: you and I will be surprised together to see it when it’s done. Because you’d better believe I haven’t so much as set a toe on the top cellar stair while the project’s going on. I don’t intend to.

And that’s a promise to myself I will not break.