From my brown chair in the corner of the living room I scan the floor, couch, and bench that sits across from the stairs, and wonder where the hell this mess came from. Didn’t I just clean up yesterday?
I see a wayward sock stuck under a chair in the dining room cast off by a 4-year-old who’s feet were too hot and I’m certain that I’ll never find the match again. I can see a cup down the hall sitting outside of a bedroom door and I’m not sure how it got there but there it sits, waiting for its owner to come and drink from it.
I close my eyes wishing the mess away and visualizing the piles of laundry I have downstairs that have been folded but not put away and pray that my daughter hasn’t decided to “sort” them for me.
To my left I can see finger prints on the top of the bookshelf where little fingers have drawn in the dust and I wonder when I’ll remember to clean it, maybe after I go to work all day, make dinner, put the laundry away, clean the bathroom, do the bedtime story, put my daughter to bed, make lunches, and clean up the kitchen.
I put my head back and pretend I have a perfectly clean house with no clutter on the counters, a bedroom without laundry on the floor, and a kitchen without dishes in the sink instead of a Minnie Mouse sitting at my dining room table.
Maybe one day I will be able to afford a housekeeper who will find the match to the cast off sock, who will dust my surfaces, clean my walls and baseboards, and vacuum under my bed.
But right now?
I’m having a break.