Wednesday, October 18, 2006

I went home last night, switched on the light and was confronted by a harrowing scene.

Everywhere I looked I found order and perfection. Clothes hung up neatly on hangers, like colors together, books placed at ninety degree angles, shoes shiny, tomorrow’s clothes ironed and ready, sheets freshly laundered….. Everything was perfect.

I almost cried.

I lamented for the days when I was too busy to hang up things on weekdays. For the days when every day was ear marked for salsa, illicit love making and endless sleep-overs.

I love my laundered sheets, but I can’t secretly think that all this perfection is evidence of a sort of loneliness.

See I always think that a little weekday mess, a shirt strewn here, a perfume bottle with its cap off, is evidence of a busy, satisfying life.

2 comments:

Eddo said...

I Agree!

There is something about a little clutter that comforts me. Then later I love to clean it all up and make it pristine. Then I appreciate the cleanliness for about a week and then I start letting things get messy again. It is almost like letting your hair grow out too long before getting a hair cut. It's more satisfying if you really need one.

Does that make sense?

Crankyputz said...

Absolutely, you know that saying, you could write the book, or be out there doing it.....I always want to be the one out there doing it....need to learn to appreciate the down periods..