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2003-08-28 - 8:27 a.m.
When I first broke up with my ex boyfriend I fell into this sort of vengeful lapse with my housework. During the five years I was with him, I dutifully cleaned my house every Wednesday and Saturday night so it would never be in true Whisper hurricane hit form when he came over on Thursdays and Sundays. It wasn�t that he ever said anything to make me clean, I just wanted my house to be clean for him. It wasn�t his fault that I cleaned those two days a week, I just did it. But somehow, when I broke up with him, I took those two nights a week that I wasted by cleaning, as his fault. And I resented him for it (because I had to find something to resent him for I guess) and I took to NEVER cleaning after I broke up with him. Sure, I would do the dishes, wash my sheets, but nothing as time consuming as picking up mail strewn all over the floor, or even cleaning up piles of cherry pits that I had left on the table after eating a bag of black, Michigan cherries in one sitting. This behavior lasted almost a year. Then suddenly it was the next June and I had a boy coming over here. The boy. So I spent almost a month putting my house back together for eventual arrival. Then, the day before he was due to be here I spent ten hours actually cleaning things, dusting, throwing things away. And since that day, sixteen months ago, I have cleaned my house with that same diligence every time he is due to arrive here. The last time he came here I thought how stupid I was, I stress myself out the day before he arrives cleaning things that I should have been keeping clean from the last time he was here. So, over the past six weeks I have, for the most part, kept everything clean. A couple weeks ago, (after a day at work where the sewer lines got blocked and we had raw sewage spewing out of every drain in the restaurant and I just felt oh so dirty and disgusting), I went on a huge cleaning spree, did things like bleaching every single doorknob and smooth surface (including pens) that I could. So, I should have been prepared for his visit this time, I should have a whole day today to do nothing but wait for him. Right now he is on a plane, due for departure from Paris in five minutes. But, a few days ago I jumped from bed at midnight in a panic because I believed this house just wasn�t clean enough. And I started tearing things apart. And that�s where I am today, putting my house back together after having dumped out drawers, closets, cupboards, even boxes that I had stored away, into the middle of my floor and I was left again with a true Whisper hurricane of a house. I realize now that my manic cleaning before he is due to arrive, the reason I suddenly start painting projects a week before he gets here, is not because I am lazy, or a bad house keeper that wants to put on a front of being a good housekeeper, I simply need something to distract me from thinking about him getting here. I need something, in that week or so before he is due to arrive, to keep my mind off my impatience for him to be here. Because I go crazy with impatience. I can think of nothing else, when I am impatient, than whatever it is I am being impatient about. And having a house to put back together keeps me sane. Keeps me in a state of needing more time before he gets here. I know this because my house WAS ready for him, weeks ago, and yet I created projects for myself the moment my impatience hit. And to add to the stress I always cause myself. Every single time I go on a huge cleaning spree like this, my vacuum breaks, my washing machine keeps getting unbalanced, I drop things, I break things, plants get kicked over�you name it, I keep creating more and more for myself to do. Like writing a diaryland entry at eight in the morning. Did I really want, or need to do that? No, I just needed another something to keep my mind off the fact that he will be here, in my house, in twelve hours. Someday, when he and I have a normal life, I don�t know what I am going to do with myself. Really. It will be so strange. |
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