Some days, I just don’t want to clean up my house. I think it’s a bit of rebellion against a mom who is “anally retentive” (her words, not mine) about a clean house. Sometimes, those days string together and I lose track of when I last proper cleaned my house.
side note: whether I’m cleaning my house or not, some things get done regardless. Like dishes. Dishes get washed right away. Also, anything gross gets cleaned up the moment I spot it. I am the queen of spot cleaning and foot mopping. I digress…
I’m looking around my house this morning, and I am horrified by the amount of dust that has built up on the furniture. It’s pretty bad, y’all.
It’s time to proper clean my house. My allergies are kicking my ass, and it isn’t all pollen. Some of it is just dusty conditions due to work (and by work, I mean helping Sunshine at work, and the work going on in the pink house). Some of it is dusty conditions inside my house.
One of those things can be fixed. I suppose it’s time I do so.
Even though I sometimes rebel against my anally retentive mom and avoid cleaning my house, I am still my mother’s child. I do find a certain comfort in cleaning.
I suppose it is much like the comfort a Catholic takes in praying the rosary, or an alcoholic (or addict) feels in a meeting while listening to the readings at the beginning, or any number of other things that are familiar rituals to human beings. There is comfort in the familiar, there is comfort in ritual, there is comfort in muscle memory.
Since I’ve spent quite a bit of time organizing and reorganizing lately, all that I really have to do is the actual cleaning. I’ve been cleaning this magic bus for 6 years and counting now; there’s a lot of muscle memory and hardwired programs going on there.
There is also a great comfort in the connection I feel to my mom when I’m proper cleaning my house. I may be on the downhill side of 40, but I still want my mommy sometimes. There’s a lot of comfort in mom. She has been my rock for as long as I can remember, even when I didn’t acknowledge it and acted like a total shit instead. I won’t get into all the mooshy, inspiring stuff that I can say about my mom; the point remains the same. When I perform those little rituals that I learned so long ago from my mom, I can often actually hear her voice in my head saying something like “Cindy, I taught you how to make up a bed better than that” (which is absolutely true, sorry mom, its just so HARD to make a bed with no space around the head of the mattress). I can hear my mom in my head, noticing something that my conscious mind didn’t, saying “this is disgusting” and swiping her finger across something.
As unpleasant as cleaning house can be, there is a simple kind of joy in that connection I feel to my mom when I’m doing it; and that is why I moved out here to the middle of buttfuck nowhere. See, when I remove all of the distractions of contemporary busy consumerist society, I find a deep connection with my higher power and with other human beings. When I stay in the current moment, instead of planning the next one, I get to truly live and experience a fulfilling life.
side note: I could go into all sorts of noodle-cooking philosophical stuff and neuroscience and other fringe doctrines, but really, it is truly noodle cooking and I haven’t had enough coffee to contemplate how, according to Wittgenstein, if I’m living in the now then I am truly living in eternity. Told you, noodle cooking… I digress
Now, I guess I need to go start proper cleaning my house, because the level of dust is truly ridiculous. And I want my mommy.
final note: if you’re curious about Wittgenstein, go read his Tractatus Logicus Philosophicus. Or just take my word for it: the now is all that really exists or matters.