(with homage to Dirty Sexy Ministry blog)
Felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Holy Week is so physical.
Went back to sleep.
Woke up again. Shuffled, wincing, to kitchen to find table and work surfaces strewn with the debris of Holy Week’s non-meals. Dream of having a ‘clergy spouse’ who waits with meals ready for those snatched moments, who launders clothes, who cleans up, who puts things in order – knowing exactly where to file things so they are found again.
Make coffee and eat a hot cross bun for breakfast, as there is no bread without mould nor milk that doesn’t smell dodgy. Feed cat who is feeling neglected and wants to play with catnip kipper right under your nose at the dining table. Read last week’s Church Times and find all sorts of articles that would have come in handy last week if I’d had time to read it. (Note to Church Times: could you put all your Holy Week and Easter articles in a week early please, when we might actually be able to use them?) Fill dishwasher and switch on. Discover another pile and put them in the queue for next load.
Go to shower and decide the towels are screaming to go in the washing machine. Put them in the ever-increasing queue for ‘items to be washed’. Go back to bedroom and hear the bedclothes also screaming with mortification and remember that there are no ironed ones either. Get dressed in scruffy cleaning-the-house clothes, and ignore hair-sticking-up-in-all-directions. Remember that the pulled muscle which you got when lifting down a heavy candlestick needs some painkillers so go to take some paracetamol and have a wee sit down until it works.
Doze in chair in sun.
Check emails and half-heartedly answer a few overdue ones. Check Facebook and look at advice to sit in the sun and read a trashy novel. Sounds good. But realise that I have turned into my mother and cannot sit in messy house without doing something about the immediate stuff.
Find Easter cards unwritten. They can wait.
Iron bed linen.
Sit down for a rest.
Iron and starch assorted church linens which seem to have found their way into the house with other accoutrements of stripping of altars.
Sit down and eat some Easter egg. That’ll do for lunch.
Cat comes to miaow and protest about something but am not exactly sure what. Remember that cat litter tray has not been emptied for some time so stagger down to lift heavy bag of cat litter. Remember pulled muscle in back again and go take more painkillers.
Dream of that ‘clergy wife’ again while waiting for pain to subside. Doze and dream of tidy house.
Phone rings, check it is not work and answer to speak to fellow clergyperson who is also exhausted but had a fried breakfast. Why didn’t I think of that? The perfect Holy Week hangover cure! Compare notes on numbers and highlights of HW and Easter. Feel better.
Change bed. Looks invited but must resist.
Have a wee sit-down and check out what QVC has to offer. Mostly cleaning materials so switch over. Eat more Easter Egg.
Door bell rings so go downstairs and remember I haven’t hoovered up spilled cat litter or spilt stable straw from last week. Don’t ask. Put crown of thorns back in box and wonder where to put it ‘safe’ so that I can find it next year and not spend hours emptying cupboard looking for a cross like I did this year (and never found yet).
As I’m downstairs check email and notice that I have an appointment with my Consultant in an hour. No time to shower or fix hair. Backcomb it instead and go for radical punk look. Squirt copious quantities of perfume on and jump into the car and head off to hospital. Nurse who takes blood says “Love your hair!” and I think perhaps punk hair is good. Have discussion about gay people in the church and nurse is delighted that some of us are all for it. Listen to her story about troublesome gay handsome son. Send up prayer. Discuss stopping smoking with Consultant and he is horrified that GP will do nothing but send me to clinic elsewhere on a day when I can’t go. Discuss how to remember to take pills when it says ‘after meals’ and find out it doesn’t matter. More important to take them.
Come home and have a wee sit down and a fag.
Put out dead flowers from 10th anniversary of ordination 2 weeks ago that have dropped everywhere from coffee table all the way through to the bin. Decide hoovering upstairs can wait until tomorrow. Pray that nobody visits. Wonder how much it would cost to hire ‘clergy wife’ for a week.
Sit down and catch up with TV programmes from 3 weeks ago. Forget to pause it when I fall asleep and wake to wonder why I seem to have lost half an hour of House.
Open fridge to see if there are any ready meals left that are not 3 days out of date. Wonder how accurate the dating thing is anyway. Remember vomiting during the Easter Vigil and decide not to risk it. Cut off a few slices of lamb and open a tin of baked beans. Finish with out-of-date Diet Choc Mousse and think ‘what the heck’.
Cat sits on lap for first time in a month so can’t really move for the next hour or so. May doze. Miss more important plots in Glee and other catch-up TV. Finish Easter Egg and wonder if I could start on the ones I got for my boys who have not visited… Resist. (Mainly because it would involve getting up and going to bedroom where they are hidden.)
Remember I haven’t hung up bed linen or emptied drier of towels. Trudge downstairs and up even more slowly. Realise I’ve left light on downstairs and decide to leave it on all night.
Remember kind words from little flock on Easter Day and smile. It was all worthwhile.
Alleluia! Christ is risen.