the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

It's starting to scare me. This is so out of character for both of us that I'm starting to think aliens replaced us with replicas while we slept. 

Seriously. For long-time homeowners, we have worked out a stunningly slothful lifestyle in which we--for reasons defying explanation--do not live in squalor. I'm not sure how we did it, even. Somehow, the trash got taken out, the dishes got washed, and we usually wore clean clothes. The pets got fed, the litter got cleaned, and the fridge usually had food of some sort in it. But we were not--how you say?--productive, generally speaking. Sure, we'd have spurts of activity in which the floor got vacuumed and mopped (before company came out for Thanksgiving three years ago, as I remember), the bathrooms got cleaned, and sometimes? Sometimes, we'd even groom the pets. I'm not making this up. 

Anyhow...we managed to maintain a facade of normalcy for years while managing to do practically nothing. Maybe it was magic. 

Here lately, though, we've been consistently productive. Let me say that again: consistently. This has gone on for the past two months. I'm scared that if the condition progresses, I'll become Martha Stewart. 

Seriously. The kitchen, with few exceptions, stays not just clean but spotless. That isn't because we don't use it--I mean, at the very least, you'd have to go in there and dust, right? We've been cooking--from scratch, even--quite a bit lately. Just last week, we made chicken soup.* We vacuum almost weekly. We randomly go through rooms and cupboards and discard items that have been there, collecting dust, since Garfield was in office. Mich planted flowers along the front porch, and I have been cleaning up the yard and mowing and yesterday I even cleaned the garage and replaced all the florescent lights. The ping pong table is clean and back in service, and this morning, I got my road bike back in riding condition. 

* Which came about because I was cleaning the freezer, y'all, and came across a quart of chicken stock that's been in there since shortly after we moved in. I was going to toss it, but Mich objected that it was just fine, and we should use it. Thus, chicken soup from scratch.

I don't know what to make of it. We've felt fine otherwise. No fevers or inexplicable aches. 

Last weekend, I reorganized the library. Mich just planted a vegetable/herb garden and put up holiday lights on the front porch. I've been washing my truck on a regular basis (this is nothing short of miraculous, as Mich, I'm sure, will attest). 

I wonder if it's one of those genetic things, where you go through half your life being normal and then BANG, your body or personality are changed forever. 

I've been reading some amazing literature lately, too. By choice. The weirdness is that I'm making time to read for pleasure (I know, right?). 

I don't know what has changed, other than the weather. I do respond well to sunshine and blue skies. 

At the same time, I've thought a lot lately about how much stuff we have and how little we use it, so what's the point? Either use it or get it to someone who will. I also listen to music a lot more lately than I have in a long while. I also work at a steady, relaxed pace. This is something I learned from two years at NATO, and...may I never lose it. I've decided to never again go through life like I'm behind schedule all the time because before you know it, you behave as though you're behind schedule even when there is no schedule. 

I'm still a slug, of course. That goes without saying. I'm just a slightly more industrious slug. 

Next weekend, weather willing: we build the fire pit. :)

Y'all be excellent to one another. 

d