I had an urge to clean the other day. I had a billion things I could have been doing. I had a billion things I needed to do. But I couldn’t get past my urge to clean. I started with the bedroom, and then I moved into the bathrooms. I thought I was just going to do a quick once over, but then couldn’t stop myself. I started deep cleaning, and scrubbing, almost compulsively. I cleaned the bath tubs and the shower. I even cleaned the walls. I polished the furniture. And it felt so liberating. I told myself that was it, and I would stop and do all the other things I needed to do. But before I knew it, I was polishing the furniture in the living room and den. I scrubbed the kids’ room until it shined. I did the windows and the floors. I cleaned the couches and chairs. I swept and vacuumed, and mopped. I was exhausted but couldn’t stop. I cleaned the kitchen, polished the table, scrubbed the counters and stove. I cleaned the refrigerator. I swept and mopped the floors. I even did the tiles. Then I was done, and there was nothing left to clean. I looked around and I realized I had not felt so liberated in months. I mean, I have cleaned since then, but this was different. It took everything out of me, and if felt good.
Ironically, at the end of it all, I was a mess. My hair was all over the place. I found a leaf in it. And I don’t’ know why because I didn’t go outside, and we don’t have any trees in the house. I was dirty and sweaty. My make up was running. I broke a couple of nails, and the polish was chipping off the rest. My body ached, and I felt like I had been whipped and beaten.
I went outside to get some air, and I realized how loud I had had the music on. My poor neighbors had been forced to listen to Ani DiFranco on repeat for the past three hours. I guess it could have been worse. I could have been on Joni Mitchell kick.
I need to clean like this more often. I need the endorphins.