I Blog Instead of Cleaning.

          One (1) of my problems is that I never ask for help. It's always been a problem. At work, at home, everywhere. It's not something I do on purpose. I have no problem accepting help. I just never think of asking because I always genuinely believe that I can do it all myself.
          I was lamenting, after reading my sister's blog about how busy she always is, that I never get anything done. That's silly because I don't do activities. I don't really exercise. I don't follow a daily schedule (except Apollo's somewhat predictable feed/nap routine). And despite never doing anything, I never seem to have time to do anything.
          There are loads and loads of laundry accumulating, the dishes get done every few days, and the bathroom only gets cleaned when it's reached that embarrassingly horrifying level of unclean. I wake up many days thinking, "Today's the day! I'll tackle all of it today!" Then the day progresses more quickly than I anticipated and I look at the clock at some point and think with minor disappointment, "Okay, well, I'll get to most of it." Which becomes later, with some dismay, "At least the really important stuff." Which turns into, "Sigh. I'll at least do the kitchen during Apollo's next nap." But then, when Apollo's next nap comes, I have become so tired myself (despite doing nothing--how does that work?) that I end up napping right along with him. So we wake up together refreshed but with the apartment still an absolute mess, and by then it's between six and seven o'clock in the evening and time to think about dinner, not cleaning. By bedtime I'm thinking, with a mix of resentment and great optimism, "Tomorrow's the day! I'll tackle all of it tomorrow!"
          I have no excuse for not asking for help, because Tom works from home most days. It would be as easy as, "Hey, could you do some laundry when you get the chance?" Or, "Would you mind holding the baby for ten minutes so I can do some dishes?" But I honestly just don't think to ask him. It doesn't occur to me to make this his problem, even a little, despite the fact that he's always more than willing to help (he says the reason he doesn't think to do it otherwise is because he doesn't "see" the mess around him, and I think even if he did see it, it wouldn't bother him much). This has been my problem at places other than home as well. Mostly at former jobs. I would compile a massive list of tasks, try to get it all done myself, and wonder at the end of the day why only half the list was complete.
          I suppose there are worse problems I could (and do) have. This will be added to them in its appropriate place.
         
          On the plus side, my standards have lowered considerably since having a baby, so that I will now accept the mess to a certain point. A "base mess," if you will. On the days that I do get to clean extensively, I find that I clean only to that point, and no further. That much mess simply belongs now.