Panic Stations
My parents are coming to visit. Tomorrow. For the first time in ten years. It's worth mentioning that they live down on the coast, and we get on famously – it's just that it's a five hour drive, and they're getting on, so we always tend to visit them, rather than the other way around.
The washing machine has been running flat out for hours – not helped by 14 and 15 tidying their rooms, and mysteriously discovering enough unwashed clothes to fill a container ship. I have been working my way from room to room around the house all day – putting things away, tidying things up, and cleaning surfaces that haven't been cleaned since I don't know when.
Why do we do this? Why is the appearance of our parents like a landlord coming to check on the property? It's my damn house lol. I own it. We live in it. It looks lived in – very, very lived in.
In other news, I'm supposed to be doing another training session for the “Couch to 5K” thing tonight – running two lots of twelve minutes with two minutes walk inbetween. I'm not entirely sure I see where they are going with that. I'm going to have to run extremely carefully, because I pulled a muscle at the end of the last training run, and it still feels a bit fragile. I guess I'll see how that goes.
In other news, I'm enjoying the week off work (so far). Now the house is somewhat tidy, it finally feels I can slow down a little bit – read a book or two, and not keep thinking “this needs doing”, or “that needs doing”. Of course the chores won't stop – they never stop – but it feels like we're on top of them for a change.
I pulled the old iMac out of mothballs last weekend and wired it back up on the spare desk in the junk room. I'm not entirely sure why. I've already sworn that I won't take part in NaNoWriMo. I might get around to writing SOMETHING though. I haven't written anything approaching fiction for a very long time.
Anyway. I can hear that the washing machine has stopped. Time to go re-fill it, and figure out what to do with the next batch of damp clothes.