Most of the time I could do without chores. Cleaning the bathroom and vacuuming hit the top of my list of least favorite activities (oh, and grocery shopping). But want to know what pretty much never happens here? Dusting. Sometimes I see the dust and then remember that I should do something about it, so I wipe the top of the speakers with my sweatshirt. Yeah, while I'm wearing it. Then I forget about it all for another month or so.
I'm a little too particular about cleaning up my brain lint, however. I can't stand to have cluttered, "dusty," disorganized thoughts. So I'm constantly going through them, wiping them down, and putting them in rows, columns, and alphabetized files in my head. But I can't seem to let some get so dusty that I swipe them from existence. I find this highly irritating about myself. Why do I need to hold onto that stupid memory of something I did or said that I regret? It's like keeping a half-eaten sandwich bought in the airport that I will never finish because it's gross but I feel bad about throwing it away because I paid a good load of money for it. Why do I need to go over and over my list for the coming day while I'm feeding my son at 1:00 AM? And then, when the day is over and I admit that I missed completing some items on my list, why do I have to re categorize them to fit the following day's schedule?
All this mental maintenance causes me to sometimes want to sell everything and move to a bark hut. OK, I would miss electricity, and running water, and, hey, how would I post to my blog? And just because I was suddenly out in the middle of nowhere doesn't mean I wouldn't constantly be going over how bad I felt when I didn't smile at the friendly little chipmunk and maybe I should go take him some treats. Dang it! It's 1:00 AM and I didn't make peanut clusters for little Chip–or Dale–I must do that tomorrow. File under P.
Well, becoming an adult brought a lot of responsibility with it (funny, I don't remember saying when I was little that I wanted to be an adult when I grew up.), and becoming a mom brought tons more. More lists. Yes, you've heard it all before. You may have done it all before if you are an adult or a mom such as I. (And if you are my mother, NO, it is NOT YOUR FAULT that I live my adult motherly life this way. Well, maybe just a teensy weensy bit. Hey, take credit for giving your daughter an amazing work ethic and an empathetic spirit–yes, I blame you for my attributes!). You may even go above and beyond what I do and use Pledge when you polish up your thought files. (Incidentally, does it irk you too as you remember the joy you had playing house when you were little and how you loved getting a toy broom or toy vacuum for Christmas so you could clean "just like Mommy and Daddy" did? What were we thinking!) Yes, responsibility has a lot of lows.
But on the positive side, I do spend much of my days lately engaged in happiness and not just up to my eyeballs in stress about what I should be doing, should have done, should do tomorrow. I get down on my tummy to laugh for ten minutes straight with my little boy; I read books about Winnie-the-Pooh and typing cows and then read those books backwards–very poetic; and I examine all the types of leaves on the trees as Geddy and I walk.
So how do I learn to dwell more on those happy moments than on my lists, my faults, my regrets? How do I learn to "let things go" in the same way that I let dust build up in my house? How? HOW? HOW?
Maybe I should just go to the beach. :)
But seriously, as the chipmunk story proves, my thoughts just go with me wherever I go. The dirty stalkers! So, maybe you can help. Please, if you see me staring off into space and I look as if I'm roaming the organizer aisles of Staples, or if you catch me wordlessly chewing myself out for doing that "stupid thing," (like I might be hitting myself or something. I dunno) remind me to ditch the dust rag.