Weeds have taken over and bunnies are breeding

Dust bunnies, that is. It must be spring. All that rain has sprouted every seed in existence, and they’re all weeds, and they’re all in my yard. The inside of the house doesn’t look a whole lot better. They call them dust bunnies because they reproduce at an alarming rate. I’ve started learning feng shui, to motivate myself to do housework. There has to be some creative narcotic fix to this, or some kind of puzzle or magic to hold my interest, or it ain’t gettin’ done. I find the prospect of writing an entire novel less daunting than cleaning house. I’d rather read a rejection letter than clean house.

I don’t have the housekeeping chromosome. Somehow in the genetic anomaly that is me, that got replaced or overwritten or—actually I think my sister stole mine. She has enough of it for two or three people.

When we were little girls my next older sister and I shared a bedroom, and my clutter drove her to distraction. It took too long to put things away, because I was off to the next thing, or I was playing with the dog or cat, or I had a sudden idea I needed to sit and mull over. Mull while picking up? That never occurred to me. (It still doesn’t.) So things, um, piled up. When my sister wailed in protest loudly enough, one of our parents suggested dividing the room down the middle. She kept her side perfectly neat. Mine? Even I don’t want to remember it, so I’m sure I was still unpleasant to share a room with. As soon as an older sibling moved out, Sis jumped at the chance for a room of her own. She painted her new walls a lovely butter yellow.

Even though messiness is my natural condition since birth, I realize it doesn’t work for me, that it’s a flaw. I love beauty and peace. I require it. I discovered this early, and out in the work world I surprised myself by always keeping a fairly neat desk at the office. When the house is a mess my mind is cluttered too. I have to clear out the debris in order to let new ideas in. So every few months, when the planets are perfectly aligned, I build up to the point where I can’t stand this house one more minute, and I clean. For some reason the planets took longer to get into the proper alignment this time. Out of desperation I’ve delved into Chinese astrology and Ba Gua overlays. Nourishing cycles and controlling cycles. Don’t quiz me on all this yet, it’s still new.

This morning I feng shuied my way outside to mail some bills, and I actually had the foresight to take my gardening gloves with me so I could pull some weeds. Some is the operative word. I tore through the ones around the mailbox until my tendons screamed that I’d better stop or my arms would fall off. Twenty-five years sitting behind computers will do that to your body. I didn’t make much headway, but at least the postal carrier’s stop at our house will be more pleasant for him this afternoon. If I can stay motivated to do this each day, maybe the neighbors will stop wondering if we’ve died in here. That happens to be a big part of my motivation, since I have the embarrassment chromosome in abundance.

Yours in messiness, transforming into bliss. If I can keep my motivation.