In which I make my bed (#41). No, really.
You know, if I am someday rolling around in more money than I know what to do with, I would definitely indulge in the luxury of freshly laundered sheets on my bed each night. (This would, of course, involve employing someone to launder and change said sheets each day so that I didn’t have to. Maybe even to iron the sheets — I’ve never had pressed sheets, but it sounds right up my alley.)
I find fresh sheets to be a surprisingly wonderful part of life. They feel so nice to get into, and they indicate a level of order and productivity that I can’t muster up on a regular basis. But recently I’ve been working on a new baseline of at least making the bed each day, no matter when that actually happens. Sure, sometimes it doesn’t happen until the afternoon, closer to bedtime than to morning. But most days it is one of the first things I do. And it helps me feel better when the laundry is piling up on the floor, or even when the sheets end up sandy from the inevitable beach sand that is tracked throughout our house.
I’ve had one successful month of three. I know this isn’t ground-breaking, but I’m hoping that cultivating some smaller desirable habits will help me keep working on the larger goals. And so far, I think it makes a difference larger than I would have guessed.