Why is it that when I am upset, I clean. But when happy, I exist in a comfortable state of disarray?
This afternoon, I was unhappy. And I took it out on my closet. It is now the most spectacular 8 sq ft in my apartment. The clothes are arranged by color, like a rainbowww. The shoes no longer bob in the shoe soup that was the floor of the closet. They're arranged now in clear boxes on the rack above. Even my handbags are better managed. Now I open the door every once in a while just to admire my own work. And by the front door are two bags of clothing and one of shoes for the Salvation Army.
When the closet was finished, I still hadn't gotten all the upset out of my system, so the bedroom was next. My fury led me to folding clothes and pairing up socks and trying on questionable items. Who was I? And what had I done with Kelly?!
When I came to, I was on my knees vacuuming dust off the floor molding. I was sweating and feeling . . . calm. It scared me, so I turned off the vacuum and quickly tossed it into another closet (without first wrapping the cord correctly, 'cause that's how I roll). I then took one final look at my for-the-first-time-since-I- moved-in clean bedroom. Dazed, I joined the rest of the world by sitting on the couch and watching TV for a while.