"Cleanliness is godliness, and god is empty just like me."

Nothing like a little upbeat Smashing Pumpkins line in the subject to set the stage for this post.

Up until recently, when I was depressed I would clean like mad. LIKE MAD. Nothing was spared - the closets, the grout in the bathroom, the windows... nothing.

Lately I find that depression equals a messy home. I can't even tell you how many clothes are in that pile that need ironing, how disgusting my oven is right now (to the point where I've unplugged my smoke detector because every time I turn on the oven, the damn thing goes off... hopefully the building won't catch fire before I actually clean it and reassemble the smoke detector), how long it's been since I vaccumed. Never mind the safety issues. Given an uber-sheddy cat who has no regard for how much spare litter she gets all over the place, and the fact that I've done nothing about it... It's quite clear to me that I'm depressed.

So today, after coming to terms with my depression, I finally consented to watching North Country. I got this from Netflix several weeks ago in an effort to catch up with my post-Oscar viewings, but haven't had the patience to sit through it until now. I've been told by various people (of the non-work variety) that I needed to watch this film because of its underlying community organizing message, but after a particularly grueling day at work today, I thought I could use some inspiration.

It was inspiring. And it was based on a true story. And I was moved to tears at the appropriate places and I think they all deserved their respective Oscar nominations. But all in all, it was a Hollywood flick with a happy ending. I am no more inspired to take grassroots efforts in order to make corporate life a better place, than I was before watching it. I'm no less inspired to stop looking for a new job in a new place that's a little more functional than the one I'm in now, and I'm no more optimistic that any other job will be any better than this one. I'm no less annoyed and antagonistic about the prospect of waking up tomorrow to get through yet another day.

And worst of all - or perhaps in addition to all this - my leg. STILL. FUCKING. HURTS. And the EasyOff I sprayed is still sitting in the kitchen sink on the oven accessories (read = burner plates, not actual oven which is a whole other project), probably destroying the lungs of myself and Her Majesty as I type, preventing me from making a tasty heated snack that I am so craving right now. And no one has called in response to the 9 million applications I have sent out over the past few weeks.

On the upside, I do have food in my pantry and water in my faucet and a warm comfy bed to retire to in a little while, with books a'plenty should I choose to read them. And Her Majesty isn't too pissed at me for taking a shitload of flash-filled pictures of her tonight as she lounged cutely on the sofa. (None turned out well, but her lounging was cute. Believe me.) And I've got motrin to accommodate the PMS I am so clearly suffering from right now. So I've got that going for me.

I just wish tomorrow was Thursday. That's all.