Vacuuming = Therapy

I may be obsessed...or crazy. I think I may have vacuumed my house at least three times this week.

As far as I can remember, my mom instilled that "MUST always keep a house clean because you'll never know when you will have company over" mentality. I used to be Queen Pouter when it came to cleaning or dusting because I simply hated it. I felt that our house was always squeaky clean and yet, no one ever came to our house unannounced that often. There was a time after my mom's hysterectomy (recall the bitterness episodes I mentioned) and I had become so frustrated with all the cleaning I had to do that I want to say that I started crying at the dinner table. It was just my parents and myself...my sis was out or working. I remember my dad asking me what was wrong and I said that I was tired. He laughed it up and said something to the effect of 'it's like like you have to clean and vacuum every day you know.' But I corrected him and said that yes, I did...why? because "she" was making me. It's funny because I remember thinking "she" and not "Mommy." Heck, maybe I resigned to the whole pointing of my lower lip in her direction thing, hmmmm....

Okay, that's not the point. The point is that I was always cleaning growing up...not that it's a bad thing to teach the kids 'cuz God knows how many spoiled brats there are nowadays who can't even keep their own rooms tidy! I mean, when I say "always," I meant a-l-w-a-y-s.

Perhaps I have grown to love it. Um, scratch that. I don't think anyone could love cleaning. Maybe it's more that I don't mind doing it as much as I do. Maybe there's some sort of comfort in hearing the whirr of the vacuum or maybe there's some sort of satisfaction as you hear the dirt particles being sucked up and away from the carpet. Or maybe it's the obsessive compulsive part of me to aim for perfect triangles in the rug or the anal need to leave the imprints of the one-direction line of the machine. OR, maybe because when I see one, just ONE, bug that somehow made it into my realm of cleanliness that I freak out because I imagine these critters embedding themselves into my carpet and laying thousands of their offspring only to hatch when I least expect it and find them crawling all over me. OR maybe it just gives me time to think of nothing else but the action in itself. It's a non-thinking activity and lets me free my mind of whatever is clouding it at the moment. I guess you could call it therapy....or OCD... but I prefer the former.

I look back at how I tended to feel like Cinderella with a huge list of chores I was responsible for- I was bitter, I was annoyed, but heck, I HAD to do them. And it does all pay off now because I cannot stand any mess or kalat in my house or in my classroom when I was still teaching. The result is a pleasant, clean, and fresh smelling environment that I can enjoy. That aint' so bad, right?

But okay...maybe three times a week is a bit much.