There's nothing I'd like rather than to fall

Saturday morning. 8 am, Brodie's already awake and watching cartoons. No quiet hours of solitutde for me this morning. Maybe tomorrow.

Life goes on as usual. I still love work - people who blog about work, however, are generally being canned by their employeers, so the internets seem to attest. So let's turn elsewhere. My apartment is a dump. There is crap strewn everywhere, despite the fact it was picked up just the day before yesterday. This is what happens when I both stop picking up incessently, and leave my husband alone for any (and I do mean any) period of time. I can see now that I have so spoiled him by years of being his maid that he no longer recalls how to clean up after himself. It's unbelieveably frustrating to me. I can't stand the mess, I hate it, it feels like I'm wallowing in filth. The only thing to do is devote a huge chunk of my day to making this place livable again. Just what I wanted for my weekend... but at least it will give me something to do. The irony here is that he came home from work early to tidy up. If that's what he was doing why isn't it clean?