My house is a disaster area right now. I have boxes everywhere since I am making an attempt to keep battling my husband’s clutter that I inherited. There’s a weird smell in the fridge I have been trying to pinpoint but nothing is an obvious offender. I’ve been sniff testing way too many articles of clothing. The floors are atrocious and the carpets are littered in white fluff of a toy that the dogs decided simply no longer deserved to exist. See? I guess Christmas decorating has happened in the house as it resembles little patches of white snow. When I get the mail, I throw junk mail on the floor of the passenger seat since no one needs the legroom there anymore. I have pretty much accepted I have become a 20 year old male slob in the body of a 36 year old widow. And you know what? I don’t give a damn.
Life has become about survival. Every single day is a challenge in one way or another. If I am so focused on putting one foot in front of the other and staying the course to find a life worth living again, who cares if it gets messy along the way? It is an appropriate reflection of the state of my new life right now. But, I think a bit of me does care because I find myself almost wishing for a meth habit so I can straighten up this house and make it sparkle the way I like it to, but in all honesty I’m just too tired to handle it. Therefore, for now, I am okay with the mess. I’ll chip away at it bit by bit until I no longer am surrounded by squalor, much as I chip away at my grief and misery as I let light into my life. Right now, that light simply seems to illuminate just how far I have to go, but it is better than living in never ending darkness.
Good thing for today: I had a good week at work and got some positive recognition. It meant a lot to know I am getting back on track there.