Imagine a tissue the size of a beach towel. Throw that in a washing machine. Wait one cycle. Open the lid. That is what I saw when I washed my brand new bath mat. This made me sad for several reasons. 1) I had a big mess to clean up. 2) I had paid $40 for a gorgeous bath mat to match my master bathroom, and it now looks like a balding man with a comb-over. 3) It really didn't need washing. I was being overly domestic. That'll teach me.
I am being domestic this week. By domestic, I do mean cooking and cleaning, organizing our house, unpacking boxes, and generally attempting some sense of normalcy (read into that what you wish). By domestic, I also mean staying in the domain of home. This extends to my homey bedroom, in which I'm spending several hours sleeping once Dave has left for jazz camp every day this week. Domestic=lazy? Yes, and it's glorious. I can't, however, imagine doing this all the time. I'm looking forward to the day when rooms are box-free, when I'll be able to walk directly to my music, my oboe, my reed tools, etc. instead of wading a path through the endless piles of textbooks and manilla envelopes.
My domesticity will have a greater purpose: upkeep vs. onslaught. And if you call at 10:30am and I'm still in bed, it will be because I've had a late night with my friends (or realistically: a late night making reeds) instead of a late night filing CDs and breaking down boxes (or realistically: staying in bed to avoid those things).
Well, I'm off to do something undomestic--take the group photo for Simpson's jazz camp. Although I guess that could be considered domestic as well, as I'm doing it for Dave!