Late-breaking motivation

I had billed this weekend mentally as All Slack, All The Time. So of course after getting audiovile fed and coffee'd and map-enabled and off to the work thing he has to do today, my hunt for shorts to exercise in turned into a complete cleaning of my closets. I did what I should have done some weeks ago, which is shunt all the things that don't fit anymore into pseudo-storage locations. This is, I'm pleased to say, not causing me to weep and moan and eit, but rather filling me with a grim determination as I observe the uncontrovertible stack of evidence of how far I've fallen. Like the skirt which, at the zenith of my aikido + diet successes, dropped around my ankles when I put it on, but now is a little tight around the hips.

And I can find stuff now, having even installed the light that sweh gave me.

Except my shorts, which are still MIA.

I think I shall take advantage of this productivity to do some hand-wash that'd been piling up, and some living room tidying, before taking the slack that is my due. (Oh, and breakfast.)

Yep, there goes another limit.

It is inevitable that, having begun surfing the wave of X-TREEM housecleaning, one's extensive yet originally-manageable list of action items will expand like balloons at a kiddie birthday party, as one strips away clutter to reveal inefficiencies or other clutter or the like behind it. It is also inevitable that the inexorable drive that is forcing one to do said list at a given time will then impel one to do all the rest of it too. And inevitably, one will overspend one's energy but not be able to stop because one does not feel done.

And thus, at last, I understand why Mom was always so damn cranky when she was cleaning.