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I should have known better
I am sitting on the couch with various parts of my body on ice and other parts on heating pads and others being smothered by Pook… although, to be honest, I think she’s just trying to steal the heating pad.
Today started out so well; it really did.
After a fantastic lesson yesterday that culminated in some incredible trot work at the end, I was on a high. I tacked up for today’s lesson and off we went. Wind blowing scary dry leaves across the arena roof? Horse and I dealt with it. Flying lawn chair attacking us? We survived. (I feel obligated to point out the lawn chair never actually came near us, although it did come towards us.) Pattern work to focus on becoming more consistent when stringing things together? It went well. There may be hope for the show ring yet. I wasn’t sure, since completing movements individually and taking a few minutes to set up for the next one (my preferred modus operendi) is generally frowned upon in the ring.
Horse was put away with many pats and I went home.
Where I looked under the bed, trying to find Onyx’s toy. It all went downhill from there.
Because there, under the bed, were three white mystery boxes. They are indirectly (and in one instance, directly) responsible for my current state.
When I moved down here from the far North, I didn’t have a lot of time to plan. Stuff got thrown in boxes. Specifically, stuff got thrown in these three boxes. They were never unpacked at the last apartment, and since I hadn’t needed whatever was in them for a year, when I moved to the new apartment I just shoved
them under the bed.
I’ll just go through them, I thought. I have some clothes that need to go to Goodwill, and maybe I can clear these boxes out, too.
I bet there are people in the world who would decide to go through three boxes and just, you know, go through them.
I am not one of them.
Clothes that need to go to Goodwill, I thought again, looking at my armoir. I bet there’s more in there.
I attacked the armoir, dusting and cleaning and sorting clothes and trying to figure out why there is always a stray, mismatched pillowcase in every house, and no one ever talks about them. People talk about stray, mismatched socks all the time. Why the cult of secrecy around the pillowcase? Then I turned around to get to the boxes and saw my little tack trunk. I wonder what’s in that, I thought, not having seen where this was going yet. I pulled everything out, took inventory, cleaned a few things, put it all back, and remembered the other box of horse stuff in the closet. Maybe some of that stuff would be better stored in the tack trunk?
First I had to go through the camping gear, then I had to put away all my suitcases, which were breeding again and spawning little day packs, and then I got to the horse stuff. Clean, sort, shift some stuff to the little tack box, notice the bookshelves on the way over…
An hour and a half later, the book shelves were cleaned and organized and I turned, at last, to the three little white boxes. Which were under the bed.
A normal person would, of course, just pull them out from under the bed. A normal person would have done this hours ago. A normal person would probably have already had them sorted and put away again. I was three hours into “going through the boxes under the bed,” and I was only just now contemplating the boxes under the bed.
The bed, I thought. The mattress should be flipped around.
Oh yes. Yes, I did. I pulled the mattress/box spring off the frame, stood them up against the wall, and looked thoughtfully at the boxes under the bed. Or, to be precise, the boxes that had been under the bed and were now corralled by a sad-looking bed frame. Since I don’t have a head or footboard, and the bed frame was in the way, I leaned it up against the mattress and box spring.
And then, finally, I started sorting the mystery boxes. Which had nothing very interesting in them. Certainly not my cutting board. My cutting board disappeared in one of the moves, and I just bought a new one this weekend. I was sure the old one would show up during all this cleaning/sorting, if only to snub its scarred wooden nose at my new board. Apparently not.
However, thinking of the cutting board reminded me… and so it went, until eight hours had passed since I first looked under the bed at the boxes and thought I’ll just go through these.
Clouts to the ear, when stuff I leaned against the wall decided to lean the other way: one.
Number of times I tripped over stuff I put “over there, out of the way” (including one mystery box), banging up one limb or another: four.
Number of times I dropped something on my foot: two.
Boxes I moved that I probably shouldn’t have: one.
Dust rags gone through: six.
Having a clean and organized house: highly overrated, actually.
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Comments
I actually felt much better than expected today, and having everything fresh and clean when I got home from work was rather nice.
I haven’t quite decided if it was worth being clouted upside the head by the quilt rack, but it was nice!
The song Soul Sista is now playing through my head.. can’t just attack that one thing as so many other just as important things also need done…. and sometimes while I’m off on my inevitable side road, I forget where I began until an aha! Moment smacks me in the face! I totally agree about a brown setup for dressage. My jumping past and present are going to prevail perhaps. I have seen dressage saddles in brown, so the bridles must be there. Do they take points off for showing in a brown dressage saddle?
I laughed so hard and loud I scared the dog.
Could we be related? I have box anxiety now, for the very reason you’ve written about!
Don’t. Go. Near. The. Box. 
jacksongrrl, brown tack is fine in Dressage. Black is just oppressively trendy. I have some hope that brown tack is coming back—I’ve seen some of the new saddles listing a brown option lately. Not sure if brown bridles are widely available, but I’d personally just snag a hunter bridle. The differences are a matter of fashion, and I never did do fashion well. The judge will probably never even notice the tack color, to be honest.
Jane, seriously, if you ever come to Houston (although, why would anyone come to Houston?), let me know. I’m funnier on paper than in person, but I swear I can make civilized conversation and I’ll even leave my axe at home.
Nah, bring the axe. We’ll chop carrots and scare the people at Starbucks. Will do if I ever get to Houston!
Fair warning: I am SO not funny in person. Not sure why it comes out in writing and not my mouth. My friends are endlessly puzzled if they read the blog. Really? That’s you? Um…when we went to dinner…? You were kinda…boring. 
On Jan 25, 2010, greyhorsematters said:
Well, look at it this way, you got your spring cleaning done early! Now you can devote more time to riding (when you heal)! Don’t feel alone I do this kind of stuff all the time and then wonder why I even started.