This entire job thing has had me wired.
John is doing everything he can and more to make our lives a little more stable, so this is more about me than anything else.
I just want to clean.
That's right. I want to clean. My house. Hell, I'll clean your house if you don't mind me yelling at you for spilling something on the freshly mopped floors afterwards. And take your shoes off! Where do you think the dirt is coming from anyway?!
Last night, when I got home with the child, I shoved some food into her mouth, then shoved her, still chewing, into John's arms and banished them both into John's office/man cave, pausing in the slamming of the door for the briefest of seconds to make sure Blue's tail didn't get caught as she and Harry were forced in as well.
Once my hostages were secured, I attacked. The floors.
They needed it anyway, so I'm glad I was inspired enough to tackle such a project. (Think about it. A wood floor, a Beagle, a Yorkie/Rat terrier, and a toddler who likes to share her food with certain canines in the direct vicinity. Such a combination makes for necessary daily swipes with the Swiffer, but the Swiffer went on strike a couple of months ago and we're not negotiating. So, it's good old mopping now.) (My arms need the workout anyway.)
I swept, I vacuumed, I mopped. The floors never got such TLC. I went to sleep last night feeling somewhat calm and wishing we had some guests over, if only to see the clean floors.
I woke up this morning and eyed our bathroom. "You're next", I whispered as I got ready for work.
Talking with a co-worker this morning, I described my latest urges and documented the almost frenzied Martha Stewart hour I had endured and enjoyed last night. My co-worker looked at me and said, "Well, Jen. That's just you. You like everything in its place. Your desk is like that here. Everything is in neat and tidy boxes. You're just trying to make yourself feel better while John is looking for a job."
I swallowed her words and pondered the aftertaste. I get it. This is about control.
John was laid off on Tuesday. I have no control over that. Neither does he. So, I am amping up my efforts on what I can control. I can control the clutter in my house. I'm almost anal about it. Now, it's taken on a compulsive life of its own while we're still reeling from the job issue.
I hate uncertainty. I have no control over it. That's why I hate it. I have no control over death. That's why I fear it. I have no control over John's employment status. That's why I obsess over it.
I have control over how clean my house is. That's why I revel in it.
The unknown scares the hell out of me. There are people out there who throw all caution to the wind and take chances, even if they know the wind may steer them into inclement weather. I am not one of those people.
I am a planner. I am a list maker. I am a list checker. I am realistic with a healthy dose of pessimism.
We're all on this path of life. When things like a loss of a job or the loss of a family member or the uncertainty of war, economy, gas prices (You see where this is going..) throw a blanket of fog over the path, we can't see what's ahead, even with the help of high beams. Our steps become more uncertain as we weigh the obvious choices. We can keep walking the path, even though we may take a wrong step and plunge into the abyss, or we can stop altogether and try to wait for the fog to clear, even though this may delay chances we need to take to keep us on the path in the first place.
John is forging ahead on his path, armed with his resume and his warm personality which won me over almost a decade ago.
I just hope he doesn't mind me cleaning up a little after him.
(If they made an Air Wick candle with a bleach smell, I would be ALL over that.)
