Home at last (well, sort of)

To be precise I arrived at JD's apartment a little after midnight yesterday night. And I really, truly had the best of intentions: to stay in bed all day. This was to be facilitated by the 300+ blog entries in my google reader and netflix's very timely reactivation of my account (am I really obsessive enough that I remembered exactly which day to have my movies delivered?)

And JD did make some effort to clean-up before my arrival. To be precise, he made the bed.

I am not one of those women who just puts up with doing the cooking and cleaning and laundry. I am a feminist. We both have careers. And having maintained 2 residences for the past 5 years makes it really easy to set boundaries: you clean your place, I clean mine. Except, recently JD has been really into "We clean together." And I have to admit, it's much more fun. I sweep, he mops. I pile all the dishes in the sink, he does them. I fold laundry, he scrubs the oven and the bathtub. It works out pretty well.

It's just that I never realized that this new-fangled notion might result in an apartment like this ...


(Yes, that is the remains of our windowsill herb garden. And if you were wondering, the recycling is down the hall. You don't even have to go to the basement.)

Because, well, I haven't been here for 3 months. And it looks like there wasn't really any cleaning in that time. I found leftovers of the last meal I cooked in the fridge. There are still little pieces of plastic from unwrapping needles on the counter. My feet are completely black after walking around barefoot.

And the real problem, buried underneath a stack of mail: wedding invitations returned as undeliverable by the postal service. Argh!

I think my early nesting instincts may overtake my need to sleep. There's no way I could cook dinner in that kitchen. At least this will help pass the time until my appointment tomorrow with the dreaded, incompetent Ob/Gyn who will be following me for the next 2 months.