Buildup

 

Two roads diverged in a wood.

One led to my sofa cushion covered in winter sunlight and the squishy yarn afghan Sandra Grace crocheted. It was quiet there because Baby and Toddler and Teenager and Dog were all sleeping. I wanted that sunny nap more than I have ever wanted chocolate.

The other road led to my shower where 97% of the tile grout was pink with mold. Turns out I haven't cleaned my shower since we moved in. In July.

Mondays I start out strong with meal plans, scheduled cardio, and general overzealousness but by week's end my tank is empty—especially concerning pink mold.

I took the road less travelled, meaning I scrubbed that wretched grout with all-natural cleaner until my rotator cuff gave up and at least three layers of soft skin went MIA. I'm not gonna lie. All week long I have showered in a mold-free fort with a head still throbbing from the three hours of sleep it is perpetually missing.

I took the road less travelled by, and that made not enough difference. Next time I nap.

Photo of a very old (circa 1990) magazine tear out I've been saving in my file cabinet for no good reason other than I've always suspected I'd have a use for it someday.