Monday, June 23, 2008

Bruised and Battered

I just never know when to quit. Saturday's cleaning extended far into the evening and it was about 11PM that I finally fell into bed, utterly exhausted. At the time it was my intention to spend Sunday in a vegetative state.

But, when Sunday dawned, I found myself tackling more cleaning. My bookshelves were stacked and piled and looked really bad as a background for my newly straightened office. This is an entire wall of shelves, floor to ceiling. Before the day was over, about 3/4ths of the books contained therein had been shuffled to a new location. This involved a lot of stooping low and stretching high. For the topmost level where I keep the seldom touched books that I still can't bear to part with, it was required to bring in the 6-foot stepladder. Then it was up the ladder and down the ladder for the better part of an hour.

About 3PM it sank into my brain that the process was beginning to involve pain. And this did not count the deep cut in my right ring finger that caught the top edge of a notebook binder as I was replacing it on the shelf. (If you think a paper cut hurts, try the sharp edge of a vinyl notebook.) The ongoing motions up and down had finally resulted in painful muscle spasms in my legs and back.

There was no quitting, because at this point the floor was full of books and I had not even addressed cleaning the fish tank and spraying the kitchen for invading ants. And no way were the dogs going to let me off the nightly walk, especially since they had been virtually ignored all weekend. They were welcome to keep me company in the office as I worked, but neither one trusts me not to drop something on them when I'm in whirlwind mode, so they stayed in other parts of the house, getting more and more pouty as the day progressed.

Eventually the books were all reshelved, the fish tank cleaned, the ants dispatched to ant heaven and the dogs walked. While they snoozed happily, I began folding a pile of laundry. And then insanity struck again. As I was putting away laundry, I began sorting and reorganizing the bathroom closet. I finally gave out and got to bed about midnight. The bathroom is still in a chaotic mess, so I'm betting I will be at it again tonight.

Needless to say, when the alarm went off this morning, I did not bound out of bed ready to face the day. I dragged my complaining body into an upright position and have limped and groaned ever since.

I guess it's a good thing we get the cleaning fever every now and again. Surely the satisfaction of an orderly house is worth the price of a few aching muscles and a finger that is so sore I can barely type. I'll let you know when the haze of pain passes.


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