The road to Hell is paved with good lists. Here’s what became of yesterday’s list.
I ordered my groceries; they’ll be delivered this morning between 8 and 9 a.m.
Of course, the bill is double what it was a few months ago but I keep on spending money. I have too much food in the house yet I always buy more: oranges and eggs and berries and vegetables. I’m still trying to use up what’s in the freezer and the fridge and the cupboards. They’re all too full, especially the freezer. My fault. I keep baking (and freezing) Amish bread so I’ll have something to give people.
I am throwing out more food than I have ever done in my life. I have no appetite and I don’t feel like cooking, except for other people, like neighbours and Matt.
Next: laundry.
It was late in the morning when I started it but that was okay. No one was using the machines. I was delayed because I kept on at the laptop after I had put in my grocery order, checking mail and (subscribed) digital news. I get tired on laundry day. It’s more walking, lifting, carrying and—FOLDING!—than I usually do, although once a week is usual snd you’d think I’d be used to it. Not so. I have decided that fitted sheets and duvet covers are made to benefit younger adults. When I was younger I could handle a bottom sheet or a duvet cover in minutes with deft, efficient gestures. Not any more. I need the folding table in the laundry room not only to spread the sheet on but also to bend over and lay my despairing head on as I gather strength for my next vain efforts.
Vain! I’m not proud of them.
I’ve been conducting an informal survey, asking other aging laundresses how they feel about fitted bottom sheets and duvet covers. No one likes them. One woman I spoke to last week told me she has given up. She rolls a fitted sheet into a bundle that she stores on the bottom shelf of the linen closet. Matt does, too. I haven’t quite given up yet.
I did water the plants yesterday but it took a while. It’s a lot of walking with the weight of the watering can added to half of each trip. And the morning glories need a lot of water, because their box is too shallow. So I have to wait until I feel strong enough.
My plans with Matt changed. I invited his apartment-mate to join us for a picnic lunch in the courtyard tomorrow but he said he couldn’t come because he’s going to his mother’s for dinner. Timing is everything.
And I remembered that he and Matt have steak every Tuesday. Much fun as stand’n’stuff fish tacos are, Matt likes to have steak every Tuesday. I couldn’t do a picnic yesterday because I was doing laundry. So Matt came for tea and a swim and went home for steak, and I didn’t cook. I forget what I had for dinner—something. I did manage to empty the dishwasher. No pressure.
I watched two Netflix movies, one over what would have been dinner-time and one later—didn’t get to bed until after midnight. I slept about four hours, didn’t swim but I’ll swim with Matt. The groceries will be coming soon. I had some breakfast. Matt will be coming for lunch and a swim and dinner, so I will cook today.
I take breaks, too many, but I get tired. I sat out on the balcony several times, and finally finished some sections of back issues of the Sunday NYT , always with notes and directives, fewer than in the past because I’m starting to bargain with my time. Not much left right now.
I have to get dressed.