Pick up the strewn sweaters. Recycle the emptied La Croix and Diet Coke cans on the counter. Wash the dishes in the sink. Put the facewash and hairbrush and makeup bag back in the bin. Take a washcloth and wipe the surfaces clean. Straighten the pillows. Straighten the bed. Straighten the world you can control.
Do it while waiting for food to heat up. Do it while listening to a book or music. Do it with a favorite show – rerun and rewatched – playing in the background.
When you can break out the Windex and 409 and Swiffer. Spend a few hours,
I get messy sometimes, in my mind and in my closet. I get too tired to move worn clothes from the bathroom floor to the hamper. I let myself trip over them for days until I kick them away, closer to where they belong.
But I don’t tolerate mess for as long, in my mind and in my closet. I can sink in for a minute, for a day or more, but then I clean the fuck up. This is my apartment and this is my life and if I come home wrung out, I want to be sad in a place where my towels are hung and there are flowers on the kitchen table. Where it’s harder to remember why my sadness ballooned, or, if it persists, it can run its course in a tidy room.
Feel your feelings. Cry your tears. Process and comfort and take a bath and order a freaking pizza if you need to. But put your laundry away and do your dishes and watch your thoughts mirror your room: bit by bit, it gets better.
With Love,
Natalie