What a week this has been. Not much happened, but somehow it was still exhausting.
I have no idea what I’m going to do this weekend, but I am fairly sure it will begin with sleep. There may also be Handel, and there will certainly be beer. I will also be playing a round of Let’s Clean The Bathroom! followed by a fully staged performance of Taking Out The Recycling. As an encore, I will be finding the broom. I may not sweep anything, but I will at the very least locate the appropriate implement. (As a person who knows a lot of scientists, I keep asking the question: given that biologists can engineer mice with whole arrays of terrifyingly specific qualities, why are there not docile, sweet-tempered fluffy mice that sweat pine-scented surfactants, so that you could just douse them with water and turn them loose in the house and they’d run around for an hour or so and the floor would be clean? With a special Brillo-bellied variety to use on the sink and the tub? I imagine these little mice – they live on soap dish scrapings and they poop Borax – squeaking and scuttling cheerfully around the legs of my kitchen chairs, and I can see no downside. Maybe they can even be bred with a specific sort of inner ear problem so that they run in little circles, thus ensuring the entire floor gets cleaned deeply and evenly. And afterwards you just rinse them off with cool water, feed them a bit of Irish Spring as a treat and they go to sleep in rows in a big sponge-lined tray.)