My Casa is not Your Casa

Funny how the smallest things can influence the course of history, whether on a global scale or some more personal arena. Having someone over to potentially purchase the glorified recliner that Mom insisted we buy for her, an item she basically used as a nest in which to sit and watch TV all day, rarely using the expensive lift component (or the recline for that matter), I was struck with the tiniest bit of shame over the present state of clutter in the 'public' parts of the abode. While it did rekindle motivation to work on the project, it also rekindled a feeling from the past which is primarily responsible for the clutter in the first place. "It's my house, damn it."

Granted, I am not a hermit, and thus the feelings of the Mrs. must be taken into consideration, meaning that the philosophy of my parents needs to go out the door (along with Mom's chair). You know the one. "It's my house, damn it, and if you don't like it, don't visit." Still, I think everyone has that feeling at some point, although with slight variations. I guess that is why I developed this project, as my feeling is important, but so is the feeling of 'it's my house' that the Mrs. nurtures. "It's my house, and I would love for you to come over." While I can sweep out the personal shame of clutter with the broom of ownership, that same broom is hardly useful to mop up the shame the Mrs. harbors when people do come over to the house. And while I can perch myself upon my owner's throne and Xbox my life away, I have to remember that the Mrs. has thrown her owner's feelings into the cellar for far too long and the true motivation for this project stems from her feelings more than mine. Damn it.

So, here it is, another day, and while I would love to go exploring the virtual world, I need to attend to the…real…world. Finances are a bitch when you ain't got finances…

Butt For the Grace of God

It's been over a week, and lest I become an unreimbursed spokesperson for Chantix, I must say that it ain't been perfect. The ongoing gastric issues are tolerable, but the withdrawal symptoms are still there and make things tough. Granted, the "other little blue pill" seems to be making it easier to get through those moments when my body becomes flush with chemical desire and my habit-center pitches fits, but I can not say that the effort has been smooth. You try having nic fit at 2am or while you are driving and some dorf who thinks he is more important cuts you off. Yeah, that's how I roll of late.

Still, I managed to get a few more things related to the project accomplished, though not nearly as much as I could. Perhaps I will do better this week.