Hateful

Feeling a bit evil today. A little hateful. I have just hosed off my back patio for the umpteenth time because it was covered in peacock shit. I hate the peacock. I want to eat him, or stuff him. Actually eating would be better because then he would be gone. If I stuffed him I would then be doomed to move his almost lifelike body around my life until I drew my last breath, knowing my inability to get rid of things. I now seriously question the likely-hood that he is my mother incarnate. She was tidy and would never litter my yard with stinky piles, there is no symbolism here. He is a freeloader, a malingerer. The house is a mess and this is what's eating me. I need to clean and I don't want to. I have really been enjoying time in my office lately, working and plotting. It's been a long time since I felt this deep love for what I do and I want to engage myself fully but my domestic responsibilities are suffocating and distracting me. I made my bed today but even that task wanted more from me than I could reasonably give it. I smoothed the sheets and pulled up the duvet but I noted to my dismay a subtle imbalance in the distribution of the feathers under the coverlet. If I had more interest I would have pulled off the quilt and shaken it repeatedly, redistributing the feathers evenly throughout and returning the two to the bed so that the vast plain of bedding was evenly puffy. I am in the living room and this depression on the bed in the next room is weighing on me. The kitchen is chaotic, the dining room table is awash in mail, magazines, notes from school, tile and empty bottles of wine begging to be recycled and yet I blog. I need a wife. I need someone to come in and keep everything in order so I can do what I please, what a luxury that would be. Whining aside, I'll probably clean for the next two hours as I generally do on Thursday mornings and then I will work and take a walk and feel fine once again. Thanks for listening.