After Herculean efforts I bought a light bulb for the kitchen today (fluorescent, 1500mm) and discovered the dreadful truth. I live like a pig. For some reason, the new bulb seems to be brighter than the one it replaced, and the kitchen is now lit like the opening scene of a panto ("are we all happy boys and girls?") bringing into sharp relief my kitchen-cleaning failure of the past few weeks. (This may be a lie. It may have been longer – cleaning the kitchen rather went by the wayside when I got depressed. Don't eat at my house.)
I first tried to buy this thing on Sunday at the horrible shop near where
gloria1 lives, and over a week since the previous one bit the dust. They had everything else, they sell kitchens let alone kitchen sinks, but not a 1500mm fluorescent bulb. Every other size, and shape, but not that. So, frustrated, I bought a Christmas tree. As you do, obviously.
The young man in the horrible shop told me strange stories of an electrical shop further down the road at Thatched House - which is near the place where the psychiatrist has his office – but obviously he was not open on a Sunday. It seemed to me therefore that I could roll two visits up together today.
Had I the sense given a billiard ball I'd have visited the psychiatrist first and then bought the bulb, but for some reason that obvious way round eluded me and I arrived at the psychiatrist's office clutching a fragile 1500mm of glass. And the psychiatrist says I'm not mad – really, he does. I asked him.
I also asked him what I should do about my generalised cleaning failure. He said, "Get a cleaner." Which is what
gloria1 told me when I asked her. So I'm considering it.
I first tried to buy this thing on Sunday at the horrible shop near where
The young man in the horrible shop told me strange stories of an electrical shop further down the road at Thatched House - which is near the place where the psychiatrist has his office – but obviously he was not open on a Sunday. It seemed to me therefore that I could roll two visits up together today.
Had I the sense given a billiard ball I'd have visited the psychiatrist first and then bought the bulb, but for some reason that obvious way round eluded me and I arrived at the psychiatrist's office clutching a fragile 1500mm of glass. And the psychiatrist says I'm not mad – really, he does. I asked him.
I also asked him what I should do about my generalised cleaning failure. He said, "Get a cleaner." Which is what
Tags:
- depression,
- home,
- me
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If illness, either mental or physical, means you can't clean, there is no shame (and a lot of stress reduction) in employing a cleaner.
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Unfortunately, I'm standing guard against a new attack of the Cough O'Doom. I need to be completely healthy in three weeks' time to have my tooth extracted!
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Not just because when I was working crazy hours at least I didn't have to worry about the cleaning (and could therefore maximise my limited free time and reduce the stress a bit) but also because she's better at it than I am.
It's wonderful coming home to a freshly cleaned house, as well.
I don't know if she'll come out to where you are but if she will I can definitely recommend her, if you're interested.
She's not through an agency but is definitely honest. When I had a new bathroom fitted the place needed a really thorough clean as I'd told her not to come whilst it was being done and although I'd done what I could the dust had got everywhere and I hadn't had the time to do a really thorough clean. I left her £50 in order to clean the place thoroughly but when I got home she'd left me £22 change, saying £50 was too much as it hadn't taken her that long to clean the place!
She's lovely.
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Being depressed means the housework going to pot. Living in a tip makes you depressed. Having a cleaner for a few months can help break that cycle, even if you wouldn't want to have one permanently.
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I like your psychiatrist's advise. If I could afford it I would hire someone to clean.
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You're worth it, treat yourself.
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