I have the whole afternoon dedicated to cleaning up, so, naturally, I’m blogging.
But I’ve got a plan, friends. A good plan. It started when I read the cover of “The Magical Art of Tidying Up.”
That’s about as far as I got. I like the concept. It’s neat. And tidy. And for an ADD woman married to an OCD dude, I should have probably at least tried to make it to the first page.
But before I got there I had already figured out a thingy that would better work for me and my copious amounts of potential getting musty in my basement.
My new wave of being a cleaner, healthier, have-my-shit-together-I-promise person is a process I am calling FTP.
What is FTP? one may ask. Ready? Here it is: FUCK THIS PROJECT.
That’s right, it’s a new wave that is sweeping my basement. To the 35 pounds of color-coded bottle caps that we’re going to cover the broken lamp that I had been meaning to fix, I say “Fuck this project.” Both are taking a one-way trip to the dumpster. To the 6,000 Elle, M, N, O &People magazines taunting me to make decoupaged picture frames with resonant quotes, I say “fuck this project.” To the birdcage I have been meaning to stuff with succulent-stuffed plastic dinosaur toys, I say, “fuck this project.”
Gone are the days when my gin and tonic pinterest moments evolve into crap hoarding. Yes, there is good intention in those three bags of felted wool sweaters I screwed up in the laundry and had been meaning to turn into tea cozies, but when was the last effing time I had a minute to make tea cozies, let alone tea?
As a working person who works seven days a week and parents in the nooks and crannies of the day (whispering “I love you” to snoring, smelly spawn to assuage my guilt over their chronic neglect IS a real thing), I don’t have the moments of the day where I can to all of those cool things with beach glass I’ve been hoping to do. It’s a losing battle, I tell ya.
So why the hell would I be shackled with bags and boxes and pile of guilt for the Martha Stewart shit I don’t/can’t do? Fuck it. My intentions were good, but not having a shitload of good intentions blocking fire exits in our home just because on the 4th of Nevuary I’ll be able to make something look super rad just like on the internet isn’t really working for me.
What all of these projects say is pretty much one thing: I have no chill.
We are in a cycle of upselling the shit out of being clever and having the time to do clever things, but sometimes calming the fuck down on trying to be a crafty crafterson might just be the best thing.
Do yourself a favor. Say “fuck this project” to one or two pine cone wreaths or maybe those drapes made out of that dress you bought in Peru that you’ve justified not throwing out for the last 13 years.
G’head. It’s okay. You don’t suck because you’re not crafting at every goddamned waking moment. Let that shit go.