stockholm syndrome

well. it's that time again. i've let my duties slide for almost a few days. i've avoided the inevitable. i've allowed myself to be consumed by other stuff. and, now, it awaits me. but it's always there... a silent reminder that my life is out of my control... and i will never eschew the unyielding claims which it has over me. i used to not care. i used to ignore the monster. i used to be in control. but it's not that way anymore. i am a servant to it, and i will live the rest of my days in bondage.

you may ask what is this terrible dictator that rules my world? it is a mean and heartless and defeating beast. something that relentlessly ties me to duty and serfdom. it is a thing which makes me feel guilty if i do not adhere immediately to its commands, and a thing that, like a drug, makes me feel amazing when i have succumbed to its bidding. it is a thing to which no one else in my house feels devotion, which makes me the sole prisoner in this home. and, as such, makes me a prisoner to them.

cleaning. house cleaning. bathroom and kitchen and bedroom cleaning. outside cleaning and inside cleaning. toilets and sinks and carpets and floors. dusting and sweeping and mopping. refrigerator. windows. fans. baseboards. walls. ceilings. furniture.

why, oh, why must these things matter? they haven't always. once upon a time, in single, pre-mom life, i wasn't so concerned with having a sparkly house and crispy clean clothes. i could wear jeans at least 2 times in a row and think everything was kosher. i could go a month without cleaning the bathroom. i didn't lose it when the carpet had a little dirt on it. i didn't care if there were dishes in the sink. unlike now, when i break out in hives at the thought of leaving it unmade each morning, my bed was never dressed. oh, the good old days. where ever did you guys go?

oh yeah, they went to much dirtier people than me: matt, the leader of the unkempt, the master of messes, and his blind followers, princess ella, who demonstrates her father's grimiest talents, and the jester, summit, who is just along for the disheveled ride. they are the wild things, and they work tirelessly against my efforts. if i joined forces with them, if i fought against evil cleaning and her band of merry purification products, i think that the world may collapse upon us in an effort to rid itself of a pollution and filth unlike anything that the polar ice caps have seen to date. if i didn't defend clean against their forces i can't imagine what offenses mother nature may unleash upon us.

so, now it's time to get to work. i've neglected the laundry for nearly two days, and the pile that is waiting for me is elephantine. you know it's bad when there are more clothes to be folded than there are in the drawers. and it drives me bananas when i try to discern how two days worth of not doing laundry can result in a month's worth of clothes that need to be folded and put away. and there's other stuff, too. the kitchen and bedrooms and sheets and bathrooms. the carpets and porch are calling my name... the sound is haunting and commanding. but, i am a loyal and devoted hostage, and i must go to it... i have developed stockholm syndrome for cleaning.

but there is one thing i refuse to do: iron. screw you, ironing.