Dec 7, 2003
I did so much tidying and moving around and reorganizing and cleaning yesterday. The day was a blur of it. I'm making much better use of my garage now and have completely cleaned up areas that have been abandoned to clutter for ages. It was one of those huge tasks that starts to look bigger than you'd imagined when you're halfway through. Taking it all apart just to put it back together again. When it's all strewn over the floor and you can't make your way out of the room without stepping on something that doesn't want to be stepped on, it's disheartening. But then, little by little, it starts coming back together. I filled a few of the trash receptacles out back with my piles. I can't fathom the way my apartment accumulates paper. Throwing it away feels good. And shocking. It was raining this morning when I woke up, so I imagine those trash bins will be leaden with the cement-like mush of months of waterlogged mail. Thank goodness it isn't my job to do anything about that.
To work at a fever pitch is a nice distraction. But cleaning house -- for me -- bears a great risk of nostalgic comtemplation. Fortunately, I was not sorting through things with any great attention paid. It would have wasted so much time. And I had to be finished tidying in time to be showered and dressed when Dorian and Krissy arrived to go with me to the big holiday party at Bryn and Kerri's place, artfully dubbed "The Middlemass Orgy." I was bathed and prettied before they arrived and with time enough to go through seven or eight different changes of clothes before settling on my final get-up. I'm glad I ran out of time. I might have been there, standing in the doorway of my bedroom closet with a dissatisfied look on my face for the whole of the night.
I was more forgetful last night than ever I usually am. I left home with candles still burning and my phone and camera still charging. I left without my little cosmetic bag, and I forgot to stop off to get drinks until we were Downtown, which caused us to go on a bit of a wild goose chase looking for a purveyor of beer and spirits at 9 P.M. on a Saturday night. I wouldn't have thought that would pose any difficulty. But I was wrong.
By the time we got home at nearly five o'clock, I was happily surprised to be reminded how much work I'd gotten done. Everything was still clean and neat. I was proud of my achievement. And stunned a little, actually, with how much I had in fact achieved. I went to sleep thoroughly exhausted and was really not pleased to awaken only two hours later, parched and unable to breathe but trying desperately to. I actually tried to fall asleep, impaired breathing and all, for another two hours but finally gave up and took some Claritin and then lapsed into slumber with the sound of the rain going outside my window and thoughts of how heavy the trash bins would eventually be dancing in my head. In the end, I didn't get as much sleep as I would have wanted, and I'm feeling the brunt of it today. But in a way, there's reward in feeling so spent when it's because you've earned that feeling. A day of hard work. A night of hard play. It's no shame to feel a little logy the next day. It's sort of a badge of merit.
Krissy and Dorian have gone home. I've got the day to myself again. But it's drizzling and cold. And I'm thinking about putting a fire on, but I wonder if I wouldn't just sleep through it, and I do so hate to waste the Duraflame. I don't know why. For some reason, when I start a fire, I feel as if I can only get my money's worth if I sit in front of it and watch the flames dance for a good bit of its burning life. I don't want to abandon it to burn out on its lonely own. Maybe I take this abandonment ethic too far.
You might get a song in your head, and it might spark a reverie. That's been known to happen to me. When it does, that's usually a good time to go and make a painting. When I was cold and I pulled the turtleneck of my sweater up over my nose and mouth, it smelled like my skin, and I liked it. Every day is like Sunday. Every day is silent and grey.
Labels: Krissy, photos
posted by Mary Forrest at 3:50 PM | Back to Monoblog