Motivation.

We all have days where we feel like saying "I'll do it later" meaning either "when I feel like it" or "after I've checked my Facebook, Twitter, etc etc etc." Of course later will never be here, we are naturally lazy beings, and when thrown into a situation that allows us to be lazy, we will be extra lazy.
For the last five days my sister and I have been alone in the house while our mother takes a relaxing holiday in Italy. She's been sitting in spas, lying in the sun, eating delicious Italian ice cream, getting massages from beautifully toned men, wallowing in naturally nutritious mud... although she deserves this lazy haze of wonder. Having just gone through the toils of moving house, providing me with money and releasing herself from the grasp of an unholy monster in the shape of an alcoholic, this break is a godsend, and hopefully she'll come home on Wednesday feeling refreshed and renewed.

My sister and I however have done nothing. We too have moved house, and whinged continually, only occasionally doing the washing up, and we too have had to deal with the horrors life presents, expecting Mother to solve everything because Mother knows best. We made vows to be helpful, to get jobs when we arrived, to cook and clean and help out where needed. We packed boxes, very slowly, we unpacked boxes, equally slowly, and sometimes we attempted to cook tea, resulting in one very thin spanish omlette and one round of tortilla wraps. Trying to be helpful is physically impossible for two apathetic teens, and now that we've been left alone and "the provider" has become unable to nag, we're still doing nothing. Leaving it for later has become leaving it for next week, two hours before mum comes home.

I woke up this afternoon to discover that I had no clean clothes, there were no spoons, and the houseplants were wilting. My sister was watching TV, protesting that she'd been at work the night before (she actually did get a job) and therefore needed to rest, but when does rest end?

The night before I'd simply been sat in front of the computer, listening to music and at regular intervals munching on ice cream, cereal and soup, which would explain the lack of spoons. I'm a compulsive snacker, preferring jam sandwiches over a full roast and Muller Rice being my replacement for oxygen. We have run out of chocolate, the milk has gone off, and there is one ice cream left, and we're unable to decide who's that should be. The next debate becomes who's money should pay for the food? Who needs the money more? Who has a job? Who needs money for petrol? Who needs money for trains? etc and so forth.

I've spent this afternoon putting all of my clothes in the washing machine, doing a whole weeks worth of disgusting washing up, and telling Lizzie that while I'm gone for the next three days, due to a lucky rash of parties centred around Results Day, she is to do everything herself. My motivation? Things got so bad I couldn't live anymore.

In future I suppose we just have to make these things as habitual as showers, or just stop eating and live in our PJs. But I refuse to let living conditions deteriorate so far again, whether I want to scrub plates or not.