List Making

Going to Washington, that's D.C., tomorrow. Right now I have ten thousand things to do but am confident that whatever gets done will be enough. Dishes and dog fur and fish tanks to be cleaning. Bills and cat boxes, overflowing the both of the them, but what else? This is my version of making list. Owen's things to be done in the next three hours. No I haven't forgotten packing; I've pushed it into that never-land of things which, since leaving can't be accomplished without them, will be done no matter how late. It would be lovely one of these lifetimes to be organized, I mean really so. To have all chores done in time to relax and reflect and enjoy it deeply. Does this ever happen? Is there any way to fold a fitted sheet neatly?



No, I mean the last. If anyone knows of a systematic, repeatable way to fold a fitted sheet, please let me know. Years ago I solved the problem by not buying fitted sheets. Hospital, or at least store front clinic, corners and a nice, not-to-worry self-righteous old-fashioned feel. Who needs elastic? Yes, but then there is being in a couple, and the hospital corners, well, sleeping alone and not moving much is one thing, but god forbid, with two bodies and a cat in the bed, and god help us should someone else have to change the sheets...anyway, if anyone knows a good way to fold a fitting sheet, a simple thing, let us know, please.



Let's see. Oh, right, I was going to put that 3M plastic film on a few windows tonight. It actually might happen. If I get started, I will do it. I might not get packed, the bills might not get paid, and I just remembered I should take a shower. The fridge didn't get cleaned by the way. There is this bowl--it's a lovely bowl, a blue banded and white glass Pyrex thing--a bowl full of old hummus. Actually, it's hummus no longer, green and blue-black and white mold. That bowl is lurking on the bottom shelf, well out of sight, not a thing to worry one at all if sight is out of mind. I do sort of miss the bowl.



There is also olive brine runnded over and under the glass trays which allow viewing of the stains and onion skins and blue--really cool periwinkle color--allium mold in the vegetable drawer. The bacon needs to be thrown out. So too the plastic tub of refried black beans. The hard dried--but not moldy--cheese, but properly that's Mary's exclusively so I don't worry. The lettuce: one bag fine--at least till Thursday--and one bag already that watery brown-white liquid waiting to run through my fingers when to pick it up I'll try. God only knows how old that kefir of Mary's is. One wonders why I should worry now if this old hummus has not worried me so much yet? Furthermore, I'm the only one leaving: Mary will be here and could certainly clean the fridge if she were so pressed. But, it's a strange thing. There is something about getting on a plane, or driving far enough away to necessitate sleeping somewhere else--one night won't do it, two barely--this sleeping away is the thing, the thing to remind one of every undone chore, of every cobwebbed corner or every molding crust married to every crusty sock. I'd do it all, if I had the time, pull out and polish every nail in every stud.



But I don't have the time. For god's sake, I've not even packed yet. At some point I'll have to walk the dog. Mary then will be home from work, and so few hours to smell her hair and listen to her talk to put hot water bottles under the sheets and light candles and christmas lights and try to be sweet. If only I were more organized and had this all in a list. If it were a job I'd be on each thing, soon done with all things, I swear.



I should get. Trying to not let six months pass without a post. I suppose I could always post my school work, but goddamnit, boring enough to write the first time, much less to read. I could post unsent letters, the living and the dead. That would be strange.