When I'm stressed, I clean. As I bustle around, picking up this and that, organizing drawers, dusting, and scrubbing, I momentarily forget about my problems. I don't know if it's the act of being busy or occupying my mind with other things that gives me such sweet, momentarily relief. I can spend hours, mindlessly, scrubbing the hell out of the baking sheets that have browned from baked on grease. You know, the kind that never comes off, no matter how much elbow grease you put in. Or, maybe it's the satisfaction from seeing the final result. When my house is clean, even though I might be worried out of my mind about something else, at least I have control of one situation, and that is the cleanliness of my home.
I was up until 1:00 cleaning last night. I was flustered, on the verge of tears, and angry. We just finished our taxes- 'nuff said. After I finished scrubbing the stove top, and organizing the junk drawers, I stood back, sighed, and took it all in. I love a clean house. Especially when I'm sick or stressed. Even if my life is out of order, at least I have a clean, organized space to go to, and that eases my mind, if only for a moment.
The thing about cleaning though, is that there is only so much you can do before there is nothing left to clean. Yes, in a day or two, the carpets will need another once over with the vacuum, and the dishes will pile up again, crying out for another soak in sudsy water, but until then, the stressful, anxiety ridden thoughts creep back into my mind, keeping me company through out the night. I know I shouldn't worry about what I cannot control. I should be thankful for being prepared, and having the means to take care of this situation, but it still doesn't loosen the knots in my stomach.
But, as they say, this too shall pass. Until then, watch out. I'm a woman armed with Lysol and Windex, and I think I see a spot on my window.