Thursday, August 18, 2011

Philosophical Housework

I love to argue but I hate to fight. I love to organize my house and rearrange furniture but I hate to clean. I like to make birthday cakes, but I get bored with daily cooking. I love to come up with ideas, but when it comes time to put those ideas into action I'm ready for a nap. Either none of this has to do with any of it or it all has to do with each other. Or some of both.

I've been cleaning the room formerly-known as the cat room (it contained the litter box as well as everything else in the house we didn't have a good spot for) and soon to be known as The Guest Room. This has been Will's dream since we moved into our bourgeois burbs house, to have a room for his drunk friends to crash in. And family!

But I figured no one wanted to sleep next to the litter box or the vacuum cleaner or my old diaries, so I'm rearranging. I love to rearrange things in the house. As I'm doing it, I think, I'm going to be so organized now. I'll keep on top of it all and it won't ever get this messy again. Yeah right. Anyway, I think some of the dust and cat hair has gone to my head. Or perhaps the cat nip.

So I'm sweeping, thinking, I bet Virginia Woolf would have reconsidered her room of one's own idea if she lived in the age of blogs. She could have gone anywhere, well, anywhere except the middle of a river, and send messages to our souls without having to cloister herself. She wanted to get away from the world to speak to it. I say speak to the world to get closer to yourself.