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Leah writes about housekeeping, a subject to which Rayne responds, and finally Leah closes the loop, at least for the moment. Housekeeping, particularly poor housekeeping, seems to get a lot of attention in the blogosphere. Especially from women, not too surprisingly. Karen details her journey from slob to non-slob, and kebbo bragged about her accomplishments in the housekeeping department earlier this year. And zoe_tropebrags about her own brand of slobdom.

I guess it's my turn. I made a New Year resolution to start organizing this house as of the second week of January. It is now the last day of March and I haven't yet begun the process. You see, it terrifies me. From about the age of 11 or 12 onward, I was slobby, except when it counted. And the only time it counted was when we were moving, which happened about every other year.

If you haven't done it that often, you may not realize how traumatic it is to move every other year. I did it, and I didn't realize how traumatic it was. It seemed normal to me, mostly. Except that it sucked leaving friends behind and having to make new ones -- again and again and again and again. It was like starting a new life every other year. And, of course, in order to start a new life, one must in some sense die.

As an adult, bad things happened when I cleaned up. Twice I hired a professional organizer to help me get my s**t put away, all neat and clean and organized-like. Both times I got fired from my job within days afterward. Horribly traumatic.

So, to me, cleaning up is like dying, or preparing for death. Except I'm not ready for dying. I'm 37 years old and about to be a mother for the first time, and I'd like to be alive for a long time yet. I see that it looks a little silly when stated this way, but it's the truth, and I'm hoping that maybe confessing this truth, maybe journaling my experiences as I do this thing I've been putting off for 20-odd years, will help me get it done. Because on some level, I know that cleaning doesn't mean I have to die, and I know that it means I probably will actually live better. Much better, quite possibly. As it stands right now, my stuff gets in the way of me doing much. It's distracting. It's irritating. It's even somewhat exhausting. Everywhere I look in my home there is something to be cleaned up. Not just cleaned, like scrubbing a sink or a sticky floor, but cleaned up, like the coffee table stacked with books and magazines I want to read (but which one do I start with? oh, screw it, I'll just go surf the web, and let the magazines stack up as they come in the mail.) Or the "spare" sofa that is stacked with mail I haven't felt like opening. Or the dining table covered with 2-3 weeks' worth of Sunday New York Timeses. Just looking around at a house that demands so much effort makes me feel tired.

And I'm tired of being tired in my home. I'm ready to have some open space for thinking. I may never be as neat and tidy as my mother or my mother-in-law. I'm okay with that. But I'd like to not be drained by my stuff.

So, beginning this week, I'll take steps each day to clean up. And I'll report about it here. And I really could benefit from your words of comfort and support in this scary adventure I'm about to begin.

Onward!

Updating

Just thought it would be fun to have my weatherpixie back up. I wonder if I can get it into the margin over there ------------->>> somehow?