bing bang bong, rat a-tat-tat
Yesterday was just the sort of lovely sunshiney day I'd been waiting weeks for - the kind of day that draws me out of myself and out into the world, wandering and meandering wherever why-not? with a sundazy smile and little leaps of joy in my heart. So trite, so twee, to say that everything feels so much better when it's washed in sunlight,1 but I sh'pose it's just one of those things that puts the true into truism. Gladden the soul, that's what they do, those sunbright days that follow long winter gloom.
All this in mind, I'm still not quite sure how I ended up stuck inside getting stuck into housework for at least six straight hours, but there we are. These things happen when you're me. Aren't you glad you're not?
So yes, spent most of Saturday crawling around on my hands and knees vacuuming carpets and washing floors, scrubbing down the kitchen cupboard doors, dusting and bleaching away with gay abandon (and dropping the vacuum cleaner on my head once more in the process), and it did all look lovely and shiny and sparkly clean in the sunshine streaming in through the windows. I wonder how long it'll take the housemates to unsparkle it all... Hrrmmph.
Seeing as how they'd left the plumber/insurance saga with all its wretched wranglings entirely in my hands, without a word of thanks, I decided to leave the plumber's muddy bootprints decorating the dratted laminate floored hallway on Wednesday afternoon, and see whether one of the other girls would deign to clean up there or in the bathroom... ha! By yesterday morning, with my inner charwoman in near hysterics at the state of the place, I just couldn't take it any longer, and launched myself at the filth with floorcloths, my faithful ol' heart-shaped bucket and an awful lot of hot soapy water. I only really started out intending to do the hall floor, but as always tends to happen, everything around it looked so awful and mankfouled next to the clean gleamy just washed! surfaces, that I had to move onto those, too, and then onto the stuff around them, and then... Thank the Lawd for rubber gloves, that's all I can say.
I don't know if the housework was what made me wake up so all over achy this morning, but something certainly did. My legs seemed to have siezed up entirely; I felt like the poor old Tin Man in the forest, rusted up mid-axe swing, squeaking and creaking out for an oilcan. I managed to clank downstairs and into a hot bath for a fair wee while, where I read some, and tried to massage some of the protest out of my aching muscles; self-massage is never all that, though.
Thinking about it, my legs were already slightly achy yesterday morning, and I certainly had wobbly leg syndrome - not twitchy leg syndrome, where you only notice yr involuntary foot-tapping when someone else threatens to strangle you if you don't stop pronto, but its trembly counterpart, where yr legs can't seem to help but tremble when they're planted on the ground for any length of time. What's that all about, anyway? All a bit rum. I've certainly been suffering from a sleep deficit over the past week or so, which can't help, but I haven't been on any marathon hikes or bike-rides lately, or owt strenuous on the legs like that. I walked from Canton into town on Thursday morning, and then around some shops, but that's hardly any real distance; nevertheless, I was already feeling like my legs were about to collapse under me by then, and in an unJackson-like act of lightweightness actually paid £1.05 for a bus to take me home from Greyfriars Road (a distance that'd usually take me less than 20 minutes on foot). Bah.
Anyway, better cast off my dressing gown and cast on some clothes or other if I'm to stand any chance of enjoying some sunshine today. Apologies for deadly dullness. Every LJ is like Sunday, and all that...
1 By which I don't mean this stuff, though they were clearly thinking along similar tracks when they selected its name.
All this in mind, I'm still not quite sure how I ended up stuck inside getting stuck into housework for at least six straight hours, but there we are. These things happen when you're me. Aren't you glad you're not?
So yes, spent most of Saturday crawling around on my hands and knees vacuuming carpets and washing floors, scrubbing down the kitchen cupboard doors, dusting and bleaching away with gay abandon (and dropping the vacuum cleaner on my head once more in the process), and it did all look lovely and shiny and sparkly clean in the sunshine streaming in through the windows. I wonder how long it'll take the housemates to unsparkle it all... Hrrmmph.
Seeing as how they'd left the plumber/insurance saga with all its wretched wranglings entirely in my hands, without a word of thanks, I decided to leave the plumber's muddy bootprints decorating the dratted laminate floored hallway on Wednesday afternoon, and see whether one of the other girls would deign to clean up there or in the bathroom... ha! By yesterday morning, with my inner charwoman in near hysterics at the state of the place, I just couldn't take it any longer, and launched myself at the filth with floorcloths, my faithful ol' heart-shaped bucket and an awful lot of hot soapy water. I only really started out intending to do the hall floor, but as always tends to happen, everything around it looked so awful and mankfouled next to the clean gleamy just washed! surfaces, that I had to move onto those, too, and then onto the stuff around them, and then... Thank the Lawd for rubber gloves, that's all I can say.
I don't know if the housework was what made me wake up so all over achy this morning, but something certainly did. My legs seemed to have siezed up entirely; I felt like the poor old Tin Man in the forest, rusted up mid-axe swing, squeaking and creaking out for an oilcan. I managed to clank downstairs and into a hot bath for a fair wee while, where I read some, and tried to massage some of the protest out of my aching muscles; self-massage is never all that, though.
Thinking about it, my legs were already slightly achy yesterday morning, and I certainly had wobbly leg syndrome - not twitchy leg syndrome, where you only notice yr involuntary foot-tapping when someone else threatens to strangle you if you don't stop pronto, but its trembly counterpart, where yr legs can't seem to help but tremble when they're planted on the ground for any length of time. What's that all about, anyway? All a bit rum. I've certainly been suffering from a sleep deficit over the past week or so, which can't help, but I haven't been on any marathon hikes or bike-rides lately, or owt strenuous on the legs like that. I walked from Canton into town on Thursday morning, and then around some shops, but that's hardly any real distance; nevertheless, I was already feeling like my legs were about to collapse under me by then, and in an unJackson-like act of lightweightness actually paid £1.05 for a bus to take me home from Greyfriars Road (a distance that'd usually take me less than 20 minutes on foot). Bah.
Anyway, better cast off my dressing gown and cast on some clothes or other if I'm to stand any chance of enjoying some sunshine today. Apologies for deadly dullness. Every LJ is like Sunday, and all that...
1 By which I don't mean this stuff, though they were clearly thinking along similar tracks when they selected its name.
