Yesterday, the plan was to declutter my bedroom, vaccum and get to the clean washing which needs folding.
Instead, I decluttered a bookshelf, carried a green Depression glass cake platter to the kitchen to wipe it clean, slipped in what looked suspiciously like Irish Wolfhorse drool, dislocated my knee, dropped the glass cake platter and landed (weirdly) on the backs of my hands on top of the whole shattered mess. Needless to say I decided to forgo the vaccuming, and the clean washing is still dustily piled up next to my bed.
Today, my left knee is tight and swollen (under the scabs and rainbow bruises that I got from falling over rather inelegantly earlier in the week ), inexplicably my left buttock aches, the backs of my hands are stinging with a multitude of invisible cuts and the bloody clean washing is still mocking me. Apparently, SH says it’s too early to start drinking.
I think this is the Universe trying to tell me not to even try to do Housework. Ostensibly, housework is bad for me.
I can justify anything.