But someone wrote on my clean slate.

And I'm pretty sure they used permanent marker.

"Taking you down to one arm could be God's way of making you rest," my husband said while ferrying me to work. My driving rights have been relinquished until my dislocated elbow has mended. (Or Geoff stops hiding my keys.)

"You've been going full throttle for months," he continued. "If you try that now, your arm's never going to heal right."

"But it's hard to relax when everywhere I look, there's stuff that needs done," I said. "Stuff that's not going away just because I'm down to one wing."

"So what? Let it build," said my man. "Instead of sweeping this week and next week and next, let it accumulate and then just sweep it once. If you ask me, that actually seems more efficient."

I suspect most men (and all 11-year-olds) are blessed with dirt filters that prevent them from being repulsed by nasty floors.

"It's gotten so bad the dogs have started wearing shoes in the house," I argued. "I thought Murry was being especially lazy. He was just stuck to the linoleum."

"You're making it sound worse than it is, and harder than it needs to be," said Geoff. "We still have your dad's power washer in the garage."

I saw a gleam in his eye.

"Don't even think about it."

"Aw, c'mon," said Geoff. "Think how fun it would be."

I gave him my "no" look.

He was quiet for a minute.

"What about the leaf blower?" he asked.

"Hmmm," I said. "That could actually work. Our leaf blower came with a bag attachment, so I bet it'll work in reverse."

"Cool," said Geoff, clearly pleased with his idea for a more manly way to vacuum.

During the time I've been mostly out of commission (I was just over strep when I fell), the jobs on my to-do list have been having a party. The dirty laundry started a playful competition with the dirty litter box, and the overflowing trash cans with the overflowing hampers. The partially painted hallway hooked up with a manuscript I promised to edit and they've formed an Alliance of Unfinished Projects. Tufts of shed cat hair are recruiting gobs of shed dog hair, and they meet along the baseboards and stairs, gradually increasing their membership until nearing tumbleweed stature. (Thus explaining my enthusiasm for Geoff's leaf blower suggestion.)

I'd been so looking forward to using the extra time off around the holidays to pack decorations away and set the house in order, to go through closets and the basement and purge. Now it's looking more and more like instead of setting the house in order, we're just going to have to set it on fire.

Oh, sure, I can still do those things once my elbow is healed, but the symbolic allure of new year/clean slate will be lost, its momentum diminished.

Still, I hope I'll be able to turn the slate over and write on the back.

Reach Karin Fuller at karinful...@cnpapers.com.