Cleaning

Today is a holiday for the California State University system, so Rene has the day off. And since I'm treading the fine freelance line between self-employed and unemployed, I worked a little bit this morning and I'm going to spend the day with him. He's leaving for Hawai'i on Thursday, so I won't see him for almost two weeks. Anywho, after I got done writing one of the articles I did this morning, I looked around and had a little tiny freakout.

Enough is enough, I thought. It is time. Time to clean.

People who know me know that I'm not an extraordinarily clean person. I mean, I shower daily and wash my face and teeth, but that's about the extent of my grooming. And I take my philosophy on cleaning my apartment from Angels in America (badly paraphrased): This is messy, not dirty. Messy is papers and clothes strewn about. Messy is a pile of books about to topple over. Dirty is a plate with stuff growing on or food decomposing on the ground. Messy is fine. Dirty is not.

So, anywho, I was looking around Rene's room, and he is even messier than I am. So, I started cleaning. And, although I've never seen it, I'm told that it's a beautiful, somewhat scary sight to see me clean. I attack cleaning with the attitude of a bulimic with her eye on the prom: the more I purge, the closer I am to the prize. I just finished doing his desk and the corner it sits in and I have a trashbag full. And, to top it off, I dusted. Catie and Dot, please don't pass out.

My penchant for throwing things away comes from moving a lot as a child. If you don't want to haul it several hundred miles, throw it away. It's not worth keeping. But also (and this isn't true today), I love cleaning when I'm angry or stressed. It gives me an iota of control when I'm feeling helpless. Other times, though, a switch just gets hit in my head. And it's time.

Time to clean.

Happiness

I was talking to Catie on the phone today, and she said that she recently realized that we are never going to be happier at any time in our lives than when we are five years old.  I thought about it for an instant, and she started providing me with a litany of reasons (which sadly, I cannot remember all of).  I thought that today I would share a few reasons why everyone is happier at 5 than later on in life:

-A popsicle is the most epically awesome thing in your life.

-If someone isn't being nice to you, an adult will step in and mediate.

-Everyone has to be everyone's friend.  If they're not, once again, an adult will step in and mediate.

-You can take a nap every afternoon.

-You still think that you can grow up to be a dinosaur and an astronaut.  At the same time.

-You still think that you can grow up and someone will love you without you having to change anything about yourself.

-The only people's who love you need is your parents.

I mean, let's face it, there are probably a ton more reasons (and I support your contributions in the comment section of this post).  However, I will add a Rene corollary:  Just because five years old is the happiest time of your life doesn't mean that there isn't happiness at other times.  It is just that happiness is highest and most concentrated over the longest period when you're small.