Mercury and Jupiter

I had a professor once who said his life was controlled by Mercury and Jupiter: most of the time, he was in a slow, ponderous orbit, millions of miles from anything productive, but occasionally he would whip into a storm of energy and production.  I've never had a professor with whom I identified so much (you see, he was an English professor, so I had to contort that sentence around so the preposition is floating somewhere in the middle instead of dangling precariously at the end - I hope I did it right).

I'm sure James often comes home from work and wonders how I manage to have so much time off and yet the house is the same slovenly hole it was when he left it before dawn that morning.  Books piled haphazardly on the coffee table, being kept company by the only major change in the decor: dirty dishes from breakfast and lunch stacked next to the piles of DVDs pulled out and never returned to their place on the shelf.  Sometimes I'm still in my pajamas, though I try to get to the bathroom to brush my teeth when I hear him coming up the stairs.  I've had at least nine hours of free time since he last saw me; how could I have nothing productive to show for it?

Then there are those other rare days, when he gets home and I (as if to prove that those other days are simple a very common fluke) immediately launch into the laundry list of tasks I have managed to accomplish since he kissed me goodbye this morning (btw, I love it that he kisses me goodbye in the morning, even though I usually grumble at the time).  I show all the organized shoes in the closet (he gets the lion's share of space both for the quantity and size of his size 13 collection of Doc Marten boots), the scrubbed kitchen floor and oven and range and hood, I nonchalantly mention the folded laundry in the drawers and the sparkling clean toilets and how Hamlet was terrorized by the vacuum - the vacuum! - and what could I make for dinner?  This happens about once a month.  Then Jupiter takes charge again and here I am, sitting in my pajamas at 12:35 pm and debating clearing off the coffee table before 3:45, when the boy gets home.  If only I could tap into Mercury more often, or figure out how it works so I could harness it at will.

These things I know:

1. I work better in the morning, before breakfast and a shower.  I have no idea why hunger motivates me, but I know that getting on my hands-and-knees to scrub bathroom floors after a shower just ain't gonna happen, so if I'm planning on cleaning (hah!), I delay the shower.  Of course, that usually backfires if I don't clean, and am still stinky at a quarter-to-four, when J gets home...

2. Music helps.  I got J a portable player for his iPod and just truck it around to whatever room I'm working on at the time.  If the music goes away, I get distracted really easily.  Putting books away, music fades into the distance, Hey, I haven't read this book in a long time...bye bye, clean house.

3. Speaking of getting distracted, if I get distracted cleaning a room and end up focusing on one particular corner, I just go with it.  Otherwise, the hood over the range would never get clean.  I spent an entire afternoon once cleaning out the oven and then behind the oven, and then the backside of the oven, when I was really just trying to tidy up the kitchen and do the dishes.  Oh well.  James can do the dishes.  How often have either of us cleaned behind the oven in the 3.75 years we've lived here? (Answer: once)

4. After I get done with my frenzies, I wish I'd taken before-and-after pictures, because clean just looks so good!  My biggest regret of this type is when I took Comet with bleach and steel wool to the nasty grimy shower floor.  It took me three showers (ok, so I clean the shower when I'm in the shower, taking a shower.  It just makes sense to me.  Don't judge me.) to get the whole thing clean, and it's just a stand-up shower, not a bathtub.  By then end, it was beautiful and white, but who would ever notice?  It's not like it shouldn't be white.  I almost wanted to leave a little grimy corner to remind me of my accomplishments.  But I didn't.  

5. I love new stuff because it looks better clean.  Although it's just an apartment, it's a newer apartment, unlike the trendy, vintage look that catches such a high premium here in the NW.  I love it, because when I clean the kitchen, the countertops are white, the floor is clean, and there aren't any corners of just-won't-ever-be-clean grime and mildew.  There are stains, but they're few and easily hidden in the tan carpet.  I hope to find the same qualities in a house some day (soon?).

6.  I love to be appreciated.  Although I realize that James does at least 60% of the housework, when I get into one of my frenzies, all I can think of is "He's going to love this so much!" and it makes me work harder.  That's not to say that "He would love it if I cleaned the house" is a motivating force, but once I get going, it keeps the ball rolling.  And he always delivers, that wonderful man of mine, in spite of the fact that he does at least 60% of the housework on a daily basis.  (I'm probably underestimating him, but if I say 75%, I'll feel far too slovenly to continue quilting, writing, surfing, practicing my cello, reading...)

So, on that note, I'm going to finish clearing off the coffee table, vacuuming the main rooms, moving stuff down to the garage, re-arranging the furniture, emptying the dishwasher, brushing the cat (before vacuuming, I hope), showering and looking presentable for my boy in 2.75 hours!