I got there yesterday, got so bored that doing battle with the bathroom somehow seemed intriguing.
We clean our home weekly (I am contractually obligated to point this out by a certain Sicilian goddess who cleans like a delightfully manic hybrid of the Flash and She-Hulk), but we all know the difference between cleaning and oh my God, is he actually cleaning too?
Yes, we are truly in unheralded times; I wanted to actually do something domestic. In times of desperate need (or in this case, abject boredom), a warrior rises from his chair. This would be a battle royale and every legend requires weapons. I chose mine from the goddess’s limitless arsenal, kept in her physics-defying closet. And I chose wisely.
Once more unto the breach, I cried havoc and let loose the dogs of washing, hitting each wall with an untamed horde of scrubbing bubbles. My minions ravaged dirt’s desperate defenses and then came I, breaking their bacterial spirit like a berserker with a brush. (We’re talking about putting in work, folks, utilizing muscles that have been mostly employed to turn pages and lift tea mugs these past few days.) Thumping Peter Gabriel club remixes added a bit of rhythm to each sanitizing slash, a touch of funk to my hygienic heroics. I was a force to be reckoned with, a slow moving, rarely seen, unstoppable tank to the goddess’s daily Level Six hurricane.
Those walls gave up the funk. So did the bathtub, sink, toilet. window, and floor. The shower curtains succumbed to my demands, and the mirror submitted to a near Disney-level polishing. Dirt offered no resistance, surrendering to my bubbling battalion, my brush, and the purifying waters of Isengard (okay, it was tap water, but run with the metaphors, will ya?).
The effect was invigorating.
The energy spread. In each room, the Orcs of Disorder cringed and fled. Even Sonny conquered the couch cushion covers.
And, of course, the goddess was everywhere all at once, shaming superheroes, using her awesome powers to shampoo rugs, shelve dishes, straighten beds, launder the laundry, fold clothes, clean windows, recover the couch, and absolutely leave me far behind her astounding trail of dirt decimation.
But I still felt great about finally having thoroughly cleaned that one room. This is my message today. Whether you are an immaculation artist Such as myself, working to perfect a single space, or a Tasmanian Devil lifting the house to vacuum under it, spending some time making your sanctuary sanitary, your spot spotless, your pad pure, or your casa cleansed is a solid defense against the pandemic blues.
So pick a project, any project, and leap in.
I am writing this series to share ways to keep our spirits strong during this test of our humanity, our sense of community, and our faith in life. If you have something similar that works for you (for today, cleaning) please share it in the comments section. Your suggestion might save others right when they need it the most.