I decicated a substantial part of my day to housework, today. In between reading bits of John Durham Petersapos; Courting the Abyss, I did the laundry and made a slow-cooked dinner.
As a result, the bedroom smells like drying laundry, and the kitchen smells like Guinness-flavoured beef and vegetable stew. Itapos;s nice.
Sometimes, I wonder if it wouldnapos;t just be more pleasant to be a homemaker. Not that I donapos;t get satisfaction from my graduate work, but... I like just taking care of the home environment. Itapos;s relaxing, and thereapos;s good food and pleasant smells at the end of the tunnel.
On the other hand, if I were forced to take on homemaking tasks, as opposed to using them as procrastination devices, I probably wouldnapos;t enjoy them half as much. Instead, I would yell as Parker for not doing his share, and things would just degenerate. Iapos;m not a homemaker - I just enjoy pretending to be one, every now and then�(and I do a damn good job at it, if I do say so myself).
All is well.
�
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