Cleanliness is adjacent to or at least in the general vicinity of godliness
My friend posted a link to Unfuck Your Habitat the other day. The tag line of the blog is “You’re better than your mess.”
I own a LOT of things. I don’t want to say I have a lot of “shit” because no, most of it isn’t shit. I own some wonderful things. I’ve been given fantastic presents. I have books I love. I have a well-stocked kitchen that I use. But that being said, I own a bunch of stuff. And as always is the case, it looks like it exploded everywhere. When I read the tag line to the aforementioned blog, it got me thinking. I always have something to clean and organize. It is never done. Part of my identity has become being a person who cleans. And it gets used as an excuse: “I should stay home and clean.” Or I feel a tinge of guilt for doing something fun and NOT cleaning. Sounds fucking horrible, right? That’s because it is fucking horrible. But I don’t know any other way of being. And I’m slightly terrified at the thought of what if one day I actually get everything cleaned. Then what? What will I do with myself? Introspection? That sounds terrible as well. Believe me, this little bit of self-reflection was bad enough. There’s a reason I don’t do yoga, folks.
For me, cleaning is like writing. I hate cleaning. I hate writing. But I love when things are clean. And I love having written.
So, as Unfuck Your Habitat recommends, I’ve stopped marathon cleaning and am trying to do little bits at a time. I’ve unfucked a kitchen cabinet, my cookbook shelves, my tea shelf, my taxidermy shelf, the large coffee table, and my stationery storage unit. I’m not burned out, and I’m still doing normal things like laundry & dishes & cooking. I’m feeling good about this.