A few weeks ago I was in the car going over a bridge when I saw two deer legs sticking straight up, reaching toward heaven. Where was the rest of the deer, you might ask? If you really, really must know, it was plowed into the snowbank on the side of the bridge. Makes you wonder: Was the deer already roadkill when the plow came by or was there one really bloody snowplow roaming the streets someplace? But it got me to thinking: what else was in those snowbanks? What other little (or big) morsels are awaiting all of us when the snow finally, finally, effing finally melts?
And because I’m me and it’s always a nonstop party in this head of mine, it got me to thinking: what’s in my personal but metaphorical snowbank that got shoved to the side all winter but will soon be revealed in the spring thaw, forcing me to deal with the rotting carcasses I put on ice all winter? Hmmmm….
I pondered that question as I did a twist-and-pull maneuver to get the applesauce out of the fridge. I had to employ that advanced mom move to unstick it from the fridge shelf. (I briefly considered hitting the jar with a hammer but, you know, it’s glass.)
So obviously, it’s time to start spring cleaning. But the problem is that I am pretty sure that I never started winter cleaning. There’s a big item in the old snowbank.
I hate cleaning. (I can hear a few of you out there loudly thinking about how you LIKE cleaning. I will ask you to think a little more quietly, please.) Yes, I like having a clean house. I just don’t like having to make it that way myself. Yes, it’s like wanting to have ripped abs without doing a thousand crunches. I know this whole thing is irrational and lazy of me. But cleaning doesn’t fit into my schedule. If I have time to clean, I have to time to read a book or write something or indulge in something completely selfish and gluttonous, like taking a shower.
So blowing off cleaning felt sort of good for a while. But also bad. Like when you were in college and you had a massive paper due the next day that you hadn’t quite started but you decided to go drinking anyway and just sit at the bar and laugh with your friends about what an idiot you were. But you knew there would be consequences.
I’m not getting graded on my housekeeping, but there are consequences here, too. I am SO not a neat freak, but I do believe that there’s some sort of connection from the state of your house to the state of your mind. (Ever watch Hoarders?) So I do get a little cranky when the house turns into a landfill. However, I also have to say that I appreciate a little clutter to keep things interesting. I don’t know how people keep their houses looking like museums at all times — like no one cooks there or sits on couch there or uses the bathroom sink there. I am uncertain of whether to be suspicious of these people or impressed by their ability to be so immaculately immaculate. Are their minds that immaculate, too, or are they just really, really overcompensating for something? To go through life so afraid to leave a mark on the place where you live, I don’t know. Shouldn’t there be some evidence that you exist in your own home?
I will now move on.
In the interest of beating this metaphor to death, I am starting to get glimpses of other things that were shoved into the snowbank all winter. I pretty much went dormant this season. I moved as little as possible. I didn’t do a lot of things that are normally important to me: reading, writing, exercising, socializing. I hibernated (even though I didn’t get very much sleep). I got up every day. I fed and clothed my family. I put them to bed at night. I slogged through illnesses and weather and canceled school. I awoke again the next day and did it again. I tried to believe that if I just kept getting up and going to bed, one day I would wake up and see the green tips of the tulips and the hyacinths poking out of the ground in my front flowerbed.
And now they are there. And it’s supposed to snow again today. But it doesn’t matter. I’m already waking up. And I’m feeling that even though I was dormant all winter, some important things were going on under the surface. I feel hopeful. About what exactly, I’m not sure. And that’s great. Because some of the best things in my life were things that I could’ve never predicted. I feel energized. I feel vibrant. I feel like my silliness is returning.
So hang in there with me, blogmuffins. Good things are on the horizon for all of us. If I ever get the house cleaned up, perhaps I’ll have you over for coffee someday.