My place is a mess.
It’s severely in need of a cleaning. Stuff needs to be tidied, swept, washed, dusted, scrubbed, mopped, scrubbed, boxed, and tossed. I thought I’d do it all at the beginning of April but here we are two weeks later and my place is still a mess.
Yet, here I am happily cleaning someone else’s home. I don’t mean begrudgingly or obligingly, I mean happily. Hell, I was singing when I did the dishes. Singing. Aside from being a weirdo, I have a theory why this is.
It’s easier to do for others what you cannot do for yourself. Or, as it was put in the old show Babylon 5: Because cleaning up your place helps me to forget what a mess I’ve made of mine. And, when I sweep my floor, all I’ve done is sweep my floor but when I help you clean up your place, I am helping you.
That’s what I am these days. A helper. Guess I ain’t all bad.