browser life

Alas, the cleaning spell from the Harry Potter books doesn't work in real life. But it's fun to say, heh heh. Perhaps I should take a cue from the boy in the clip art photo....

The good news is that I'm only one bookcase and one former microwave cart that now serves as a photo album display case away from having the entire upstairs cleaned thoroughly once. Well, except for the tub and bathroom floor, which Dan promised to clean two weeks ago. I'm trying to ignore the fact that it has taken me so long to get the upstairs done that the living room is already dusty again.

The bad news is that nothing downstairs has been cleaned since we moved in. Obviously, the storage room won't need anything done to it, but the living area containing the command center, entertainment center, stereo, project area and various towers for tunes, books and movies is a mess. And there is a massive pile of items that need to be shredded that Dan said he'd get to months ago that he's secretly hoping I'll tackle instead.

Unfortunately, the more progress I make, the slower I have to take it. The exacerbated back spasms, trigger points and drop dead fatigue every time I tidy something is incredibly discouraging. So there are bouts of two or even three consecutive days where I can not tackle anything new.

And my cognitive dysfunction has reached the point of being alarming. I was planning on doing some real cooking this weekend and making a gradual transition away from the microwave and box dinners that are so expensive, but now I'm not so sure that's a good idea. At least the heat and eat stuff is pretty much a no brainer, which seems to be what I require.

Yesterday, I had the bright idea of making chicken Parmesan out of the defrosted chicken I had in the fridge. But then I found out there we were out of Parmesan cheese and had forgotten to ask Dan to get some when he was at the store the previous day, and he was out. So I went to plan B, a boxed gluten free mix for chicken Alfredo.

I took the chicken breasts out of the package and put them in the skillet and started to heat it with the nagging notion that something didn't seem quite right. Then I realized that I was supposed to be using bite-sized pieces, not whole breasts. So I had to fish it out of the skillet and slice it up, which was something I'd usually have Dan do because it hurts my hands so much.

So the chicken pieces are returned to the skillet, and I'm merrily cooking away. Then I discover to my surprise that the chicken is stuck to the bottom of the skillet because I forgot to use cooking spray like I usually do. The chicken goes back on the cutting board, I spray the skillet and try again.

Um, did I mention that my coordination has also been off since I started this cleaning quest? While I'm heating the chicken, I spill pieces onto the floor, and then when I'm adding milk for the sauce, I slosh it everywhere. Thank goodness for Chip, the canine vacuum cleaner.

But there was one thing Chip couldn't help me with. While closing the corner lazy Susan we use for a pantry, two cans of pineapple fell into the back of the cabinet. The cans were small enough for the door to still move, but they were large enough to be quite securely wedged.

The only way to get them loose was to get the extension handle of my feather duster, lie flat on the floor to be eye level with the cans, and roll the cans toward the front of the cabinet and somehow squeeze my hand in there to grab them. This took half an hour, and by then, my neck and back had seized up and I couldn't get off the floor! Seemed to take forever to get onto my knees and grab the countertop and hoist myself back up.

Did manage to finish making the chicken Alfredo, and since I didn't know exactly when Dan would be back, I thought I'd just cover the skillet while it cooled in case he wanted some. When an hour had passed I went to put the leftovers in the fridge and discovered I had LEFT THE SKILLET ON! Good thing I didn't burn the damned house down!

This is at least the third time in a week that I have accidentally left the heat on something. I'm actually nervous about cooking my eggs in the evenings now. This is stuff I used to be able to do on autopilot, no matter how tired I was.

Has my autopilot disappeared? Am I doing other dangerous things unawares? A little fibrofog I can handle and find amusing, but this is freaking me out.

How I wish I could scourgify.