Dawn unemployed, me about to be, Charlotte’s school nearing the end and Lily not working yet, the four of us are often at home dirtying it. Then there is the dog and cat and the kids’ friends leaving their paints and clothes and swim suits behind, large water bottles in pastel colors. I’m sorry, when did it become fashionable to drink water? The dryer broke, forcing us to replace it and see what it looks like behind the old dryer. Dust so evolved it actually flinched when I touched it.

And so yes we had to let our house cleaners go because who can justify spending money on cleaners when everyone is home unemployed, binge watching TV and eating ice cream?

If you let your house go uncleaned long enough you start to think this is the way it should be. It’s not. For one, all the hair. Dogs, cats, women, long-haired men. Hair in places you wouldn’t expect and so much of it.

I forgot what color the toilet bowl turns if you don’t brush it (a sickly yellow like Halloween teeth).

The dog is old and incontinent and has started going on the carpet or floor.

The garage is at its all-time worst, hardly navigable.

In the arc of my discontent with the house I have to turn all those internal sensors off. But then I can’t turn them back on. Is this how artists live, or slobs?

On the other hand the yard looks great. Some of the foxglove are starting to bend and the lupine are nearly spent but overall it’s well maintained. A feeling of care and control, calm.

Last week Dawn mentioned the guy in Germany we know, the artist, who lives with his wife but has a cat walk separating her quarters from his. And how brilliant I thought that was (Dawn likes the idea too). The thing is, I’d have to live outside. Which sends a mixed message to the kids.

I would rather live inside a trash can than live alone, I think. Most days. Being around other people’s filth reminds you there are other people in your life, whether you like it or not. I choose life, and love. Hair follicles and toilet paper rolls. Food particles in the drain traps, wet towels on the floor. There is some evolution for my soul in all this, must be.

Categories: Creative Nonfiction, Humor

Tags: Creative Nonfiction, humor, Memoir