If I took the bus like I usually do, I would not have the energy to even pick up a bucket. Fate, timing, or whatever a person calls it, intervened in the form of a friend getting me home at 4:30. I ate some supper, opened the windows, and decided enough was enough. I left for work with the morning chill, but I came home to something making sweaters optionally. I filled a bucket with hot water, a dash of Mr. Clean, and my comfy sweats to begin wiping away the winter.
Dirt and grime wiped away as I applied the sponge to the furniture. I didn’t want to sit in front of the tv, at least not until Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. The people in the condo complex across me, started to clean their barbecue. The guy did it mainly, without his shirt, another sure-fire signal spring has arrived.
I bought the bistro set last year. I spent most of my time on it last summer. I had V over for Olive Garden take out and conversation. I followed the panel for Age of Ultron at San Diego Comic Con, while Thor seemed poised to remind Winnipeg he’s not Chris Hemsworth. (It was that grey and threatening that day.) I also had the ritual of taking out my tablet to read tweets and Tumblr posts about The Crucible. I figured if I can’t be there, I can follow people fortunate to attend.
Most of the time I wrote in my journal. I kept scribbling, and I wanted to wipe away the dirt to clean away my dirt in the perception filter. It looked murky, and murky perceptions do not help people create. I cleaned the winter away to bring in the summer of my creation. Of course, it needs fine tuning. I can see my window ledge needing a scrub down, and I need to vacuum the carpet. It’s good enough for now.
Next task, put out my solar lights. I missed out on winter lights, but I have these cute patio lanterns. I feel quite proud of that purchase with its bright colours finally breaking the grip of winter grey. It sounds like a useless laundry list to read of someone’s balcony. In the summer months, I move the writing outdoors. The place turns into an outdoor studio either with my journals, or my laptop. I pour a coke and off I go. I let the fresh air into my place, while I try to open the windows in my soul. Sometimes it feels grey and murky. Sometimes perfectionism freezes the windows shut, and I have to pry them open.
I always hear ‘shoulds’ or listen to an illogical list of demands. I realize those demands, while made with love, do not work for me. The hardest part for the person imparting her wisdom is it’s not mine. Nothing personal. I always hear that phrase at work, but try saying that to someone you love, someone not used to hearing the phrase as everything seems personal. If you’re Portuguese and female, boundaries are not things taught in my culture. I look stubborn to some, but I feel happier. It took a lot of work, and a lot of fights, to get me to this point.
I smiled watching the dirt come off, anticipating the hot summers filled with reading and writing. It’s more than a seasonal ritual. I feel the urgency to clean and take a seat on a day like today. The vacuuming can wait, but the blue sky in my present wants its audience now.