Just as I was starting to feel a little more normal after the mono, I managed to catch a nasty cold from the Boyfriend (including losing my voice for three days -- that made answering the phone at work a LOT of fun). So waking up this morning and feeling better than I have in months made me determined not to waste it, just in case it didn't last long.

So, I organized my sock drawer.

Actually, that was just the first of many small, mundane household tasks I did today in the aim of ridding the apartment of some of the dissolute, sickbed feel it has taken on while I've been stringing together various illnesses. Mostly I concentrated on all the things that I usually ignore when I'm cleaning because the apartment will still look clean. (No one but me has to know when it takes a good ten seconds and a few sharp tugs to get my sock drawer open, after all.)

These other tasks included some shredding, some filing of old bills, and packing away the last few bags of items that had been displaced during my skirmish with the bedbugs and had since been languishing in piles in the bottom of the closet. In the process I had to go through items that more or less encompassed my entire year. Here was the envelope of a wedding invitation, there were the sandals I wore on the second date with the Boyfriend. On the top of one pile was the UPS envelope in which the appointment letter to the new job arrived; at the bottom of another was the photo album from my trip to Europe with Sus.

In about three weeks, I am turning 30. I'm a little ambivalent about it, not because I'm having some sort of third-life crisis (What? I'm planning on seeing at least 90), but because 29 has been such an amazing, crazy, jam-packed roller-coaster of a year, and it's not going to be easy to top. It wasn't a perfect year, by any means (I doubt those exist, outside of sports), but I don't regret any of it.* Part of me wouldn't mind at least half a year of relative calm as a follow up (which isn't going to happen anyway, as I'll be apartment hunting soon); part of me wants to see, if my life continues as is, what can possibly happen next.

So that was my productive, if mundane, Saturday, with its high navel-gazing quotient. I need to find a household chore that will spark this amount of brainstorming for my fiction. Also, I should probably clean my place more often.



*Well, maybe I regret drinking out of that water fountain at ballet class, assuming that's how I caught mono. But that's all.