January 30, 2005

molly (the manic) maid

it's 4:30 am and i'm tidying my room. i changed my sheets and made my bed. i organized the papers from last quarter that had been left scattered about my bed and desk for months and threw away the trash. i finally folded and put away my laundry. i picked up the pile of discarded clothing off the bathroom floor and put it in the hamper. i reduced my desk clutter and took out the trash. it all sounds terribly neurotic that i would be cleaning at this hour. it's funny, but i feel my most centered right now. i'm not seeking approval, manicly spouting absurdities for attention, or self-consciously looking over my shoulder. i am simply indulging my primordial needs to clean late into the night. actually, i've left the job only half-done. there are countless other little tasks that need to be completed before my domain can return to a state of true order and peace. for example, the layer of grime really ought to be removed from every surface in my bathroom before i can feel comfortable allowing guests to use it.

one of my intended tasks today was to clean my suede sneakers, which have turned a rather unappealing shade of grey. i had to run to rite-aid for some suede cleaner. i scrubbed one shoe ferociously, giving myself a blister along the way, and now my entire room smells of christmas spices and rubber cement - eu de leather spray - and i'm having dizzy headaches that pulse in my temples (but in leather cleaner's defense, this really began friday). instead of fumigating my brain, i ought to have been studying molecular biology or writing an english essay. non school-sanctioned lit - i'm reading survivor by chuck palahniuk, which i pulled off of kat's bookshelf at perhaps 2am. tonight, i will dream of procuring a vacuum cleaner, of dancing bottles of 409, and clothes tumbling, tumbling in the dryer. i finally got the money that jim owed me back, so i have bills small enough to do laundry, and now he has no obligation to ever see me again, which i cynically believe will be exactly the case. (actually i very likely will see him again before the year ends in a handful of awkward social situations orchestrated by blaize, that will not only feature the girlfriend, but also their clique of dull female friends who have been - rather horrifically - dubbed "the harem.") i am currently cynical about all social situations, though. today, i advised steffi that the wonderful harvard law student she is dating probably has "a truly disturbing kink...like he likes being dressed up in binding leather lingerie and spanked." in my defense, i have been reading an abundance of misanthropic writers of late: the c(o)unt(ry) wife is cynical about love and reputation, gulliver's travels is just mean, rochester's satire maligns reason, and survivor, now, is terribly mordant.

oh, but i love this, "the smoke hot and dense inside me feels the way i would if i had a soul." lovely. so depressive. i suppose this is all terrible reading material for someone who's pmsing. and it's just unkind of the universe to deprive me of the cleaning implements i require to finish my job. i'm going to finish my story, and then, perhaps, to bed. god knows what tomorrow will bring, but if it's a bottle of gin, this little compulsive will drop the dust rag with joy and cavort a little jig of joy. and maybe the headaches will finally go away.


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