Fifteen past sometime and the dust bunnies under my bed are organizing for a coup.They were notified of the arrival of a bulk shipment of dust cloths by the spider who lives next to the front door.
The fact that the super special ultra modern dust killers arrived two months ago was not included in the spider’s dossier.
(He has it in for me. I mutilated his last two lovers with a blue clog and he’s beenplotting ever since.)
I got word of the impending coup from the cat next door. She likes to visit and spends much more time under my bed than I do.
I think she’s worried.
If the dust bunnies take over, who will be here to smuggle her catnip when it rains?
Part II (one month later)
The dust bunnies under my bed sent political envoys in search of economic support from the spiders by the kitchen door. Too bad dust bunnies aren’t known for the swiftness of their travel. Multiplication, on the other hand, is a subject at which they excel.
This fact I noticed when I dropped my book under the bed and couldn’t find it. I finally opened the package of super special magnetized duster thingies that arrived three months ago and found they work incredibly well for guerrilla warfare of the dusty sort.
In a merciless and brutal manner, I cut the remaining bunnies off from their front door informant by smashing his exoskeleton with my other blue clog.
I’ve heard from the cat next door that the surviving bunnies plan to dress as mimes for Halloween and infiltrate my bed with their super stealth mime walks.
Tragically, no one has informed them that mime walks are actually stationary and that my vacuum arrives tomorrow.
So, I wrote this collection of words an ago or so ago. Four or five apartments and houses away from the here and now. I thought of it when we began to move the furniture out of the guest room to get ready to finish the flooring install this weekend. You see, the puppy has her kennel in the guest room. Needless to say, the dust bunnies under that bed are made up mostly of forgotten puppy fur and hopelessness.
Did I really just write that? You see, this is the trouble with the grump. It sneaks in even in the middle of a perfectly good recollection of dust bunnies. What is it about dust which makes it so hard to avoid and so necessary to battle? Aren’t we all just dust anyway? I’m tempted to quote Bill and Ted’s interpretation of Socrates’ use of the Days of Our Lives intro, so I shall: “Dust. Wind. Dude.”
I hate soap operas. If I wanted that much drama in my life I would find better ways to make that happen than sitting on my arse watching the same plot lines unfold year after year. I only know about Days of Our Lives because my cousin forced me to watch it with her no matter what else we were doing during summer visits. At 3:00 each day we had to sit and watch Hope and Beau and Roman (first one then the fake Roman who took over for the other one…then maybe even the first one again) spin out ridiculous moments…oh! Marlena. Or however you spell her name. I don’t remember much about those wasted hours other than a few names, but when I finally refused to waste more hours of my life (my cousin was older than I and mostly a bully when it came to owning the hours we spent at the grandparents’ house) watching people I didn’t care about do things which made me cringe, I was much happier on those visits.
So, cleaning out the guest room/puppy room brought to mind some dusty sort of memories about times I wished I had been a different sort of person. (Really, a person who dusts under beds more often would be a good place to start…) I don’t know if we all reach this place where we think life is finally going great and then BAM, all of a sudden we feel like nothing we do is enough. In my case, that’s when I really just started doing nothing. Which in turn made nothing far from enough. Hence this whole cycle.
I get that part of that cycle was related to medical issues which messed me up far more than I knew, but still…shouldn’t I have been able to power through all of that ugh and be amazing and brilliant and successful and interesting even if I was closer to dying than I had any idea of? I don’t know.
I do know that I had better get back to coaxing the dust bunnies into the vacuum.
I'm just someone trying to figure out how to juggle ten acres, work, a mama with stage four cancer, and a whole lot of grumpy. This blog started out as "Grumpy Gal's Guide to Gratitude," but since all I really keep typing about is the garden, I figured I might as well own it! So, thanks for joining me as I try and figure out how the heck to kick myself in the booty and get on with life.