I'm just a temp from Chiswick

If you  know me, you know I love Doctor Who. It doesn't matter if it's classic or new Who because I love it. I love the cheesy drama. I love the fanciful. I love the dream.

The Doctor always has his companions. He needs his companions. They are important to him. They help keep him sane. 

I feel like I'm often Rose or Donna from new Who. My life is mundane.  It's getting up every morning and doing the same.old.thing. I'm nothing special. I'm just a wife and mom. I get buried in the routine.

I sweep the same floors every day and yet they never look clean. Kids, dogs, and life in general come right behind me and muck them all up. I can never have an empty sink. As soon as I dry my hands and turn off the kitchen light, someone comes behind me and creates more work. I clean up clutter piles and then turn around to find them all right back where I cleaned them.  

I donate about 15-15 gallon trash bags of stuff to charity every year. Some years more, depending on how much the kids have grown.  And yet there's always more stuff to replace what I took out.  

This is my every day. This is my all week.  This is all year. Mundane. Routine. Rut.

It's nothing to write about. "I'm just a temp from Chiswick. I'm nothing special."  

Except that writing is supposed to help me break out of my rut; maybe it's supposed to simply help me see beyond my rut. This is a bit of a quandry because how is writing about the same old thing every day for 365 days going to help me see things better?

On the other hand, I am an introvert. I don't need new and exciting things. That sort of thing just wears me out.

Maybe next year's resolution will be 365 days of reading.