Tacked. . .

On to my wall there is this list. A master list of house chores and to do's. It has been dutifully collecting dust on its beautifully printed surface with my rare, carefully pencil cursive. This list is a bane of my existence for the foremost reason that I forget it has corporeal form till I have piles of college work to complete.
Two hours and twenty-seven minutes before an assignment is due and I want to tackle that list. Shake off its dust and gladly check off multiple items. I want the air to tickle my nose with the fumes of cleaning supplies and angry dust bunnies trying to escape the awaiting trash can.
All these "I wants" but only procrastination answers them.
The rambunctious children are asleep and the sudden silence is almost deafening as the baby monitor continues to hiss only of their snores and night whimpers.
Maybe I'll pull a two-am'er so I can purge that kitchen of all traces of filth and then collapse into a deaden slumber of accomplishment followed by a coffee heavy morning of computer coursework and recharged babies.
People always talk of spring cleaning but for me it is always fall cleaning. I want to clean burst open my windows and doors to welcome the crisp autumn air edged with the scent of drying leaves and completely absent of that dreadful humidity.
It is my favorite season and often I wonder if I am living too far south. Even now in upstate South Carolina, which is drastically further north than south Texas, I feel like I am still too far south. I hate the heat and humidity.
The one year I got to be somewhere with real winter, I loved it. I went cheerfully walking in Chicago with a wind chill of -11 below. I embraced the stinging cold and the glaringly beautiful snow. When the thaw came I was ready to cry at the loss of the quiet windswept days speckled by fluffy snowflakes with a belly freshly warmed at a quaint French bistro in a sleepy town along the train tracks.
So away I must go to toss together that assignment and a batch of dark chocolate chip cookies that my hubs has requested come popping out of the oven as he walks in. I think I'll finish them in advance and just pretend to pull them out as he opens the door. Fool proof I say.
The master list and its thickening layer of dust can wait one more day.