Ack! I’m turning into Bree Vandecamp.
Although most people see me as Susan in Desperate Housewives, I relate most with Lynette and Bree. the former for being a successful career woman who is helpless at home, and Bree for being so OC, detail-oriented, and for wanting to do everything from scratch. But most people don’t see Bree in me, because well, I’m carefree and err…. I hate housework. With a passion.
I feel it’s a waste of time. I don’t like washing pots & pans and ironing the most. It’s so mundane and my hands get tired and painful. I’d rather pay someone to do it and use my almost non-existent spare time (and hands) painting, making accessories, writing blogs, shopping, sleeping, daydreaming. Ahhh daydreaming… I can’t understand why most adults don’t do it as much as when they were kids. I enjoy it so much I made a career out of it. I am now in Shanghai because of my ability to daydream. But of course we have to “daydream” with lots of parameters and tight deadlines… the stressful part that causes my 30-something CDs to have heart attacks, miscarriages, broken marriages and (I’m not kidding) lose skin color like Michael Jackson. That’s the irony of Advertising creatives, we have the mind of a child and the body of a geriatric.
Thus explains (or excuse) my dislike for routine things like housework. But since I moved to my new apartment I’ve morphed into Bree. I purposely didn’t get a maid yet. Maybe I just find it interesting because it’s all so new and not feel like routine yet. Or maybe because I still don’t have as much social life and spend more time at home. Or maybe I’ll get lazy again once the Ayi starts next week.
Currently I handwash most clothes and ironed sheets this morning (not fun). I seem to have a keener eye on dirt and I have to pick up all hairstands on the bathroom floor (I molt so that’s an endless task), mop my floors and if I’m not satisfied I would go down on all fours and scrub them with my hands. I wiped all edges of detailing, scrubbed an aircon filter, and vacuumed my bed. Scareeee. What’s happening to me? It’s like a switch has been turned on in my brain and now I can’t help doing housework.
A switch called “Growing Old.”
