Okay, since I recently said that I write less and less here that is quotidian narrative, I’ll subvert my own pronouncement and give it a try, just like I used to when I started blogging.
– Got up feeling vaguely interrupted
– Wanted to send a message to my wife right away, but made myself wait just for good measure
– Messaged back and forth with my wife and felt loved
– Told her that I had to clean
– Failed to clean for longer than I’d like to admit (read: procrastination; I hate cleaning)
– Began to clean
– Procrastinated again by reading (Kathleen Parker, ambivalent about her) and napping
– Woke up later than I’d like and began to clean again, this time with determination
– Spent hours shampooing the hallway (for some inexplicable reason, shampooing takes forever)
– Messaged my wife with genuine regret that I couldn’t visit (my fault—the slow start to the day)
– Stopped cleaning at length when it was very dark outside
– Played guitar and sang for the first time since before the holiday break
– Sat down to write and got stuck here; have been doing this for some time now
– Am thinking about sending a good-night message
Here we have prime evidence for why I no longer blog about everyday activities. Because it makes me feel rather more domestic than I want to feel. In my twenties, it was about bars and photo shoots and time out in the city and political involvement and dates with mysterious women and so on. Now, it is about shampooing the carpets. I don’t want this to become “Aron the Dad, a Blog About Housecleaning and Lunch,” so there’s basically no point in recounting actual daily activities.
“Life at 40! Exciting! Untamed!”
But I suppose to inject some boring reality every now and then isn’t too bad.