You know, I never remember that the most therapeutic thing I can do, anytime there’s some sort of psychological/philosophical/existential crisis going on, is work. Labor type, work up a sweat, get my back into it WORK. It has to be a certain type, too. Something that requires a little bit of thought and isn’t too repetitive. Mowing won’t cut it (haw! see what I did there?). Scrubbing a bathroom works great. Weeding, prepping a garden bed, building a brick wall…those things are what’s needed.
So, I cleaned the boys bathroom. It was disgusting. I mean REALLY disgusting. It hadn’t been cleaned for months, and with 4 young men and all their engine grease and sweat and schmutz and things I don’t even want to consider…well. I probably should be ashamed for having apparently so little regard for the state of the house to let it get that bad, but it’s not like there was piles of poo or that sort of thing…it was just general schmutz.
But, not anymore! I threw my back into it, and worked up a 2 hour sweat scrubbing and toothbrushing the grout and wiping the
proceline porcaline porcelain bits and then bleaching the whole thing so now it fairly sparkles! Also threw away several thousand hundred empty shampoo bottles, shaving cream cans, things apparently only a female is allowed to put into a trash can because I am the ONLY one who does is…Ok Terry does it too but he had to be trained and only a woman can train a man to do it and it can’t be his mother.
And I feel so much better. My head is in a much happier place and there is actually some optimism brewing! How about that!
So, next time you see me getting whiny and precious about life, tell me to go clean something, or pull a weed.