There are days when I actually enjoy housework. Strange, but true.
When I notice I've been feeling particularly funky for a few days, I can almost always look around at my home, my dwelling place, and notice that it's outta whack, too. Putting my place, my surroundings, back in order is an external activity that is somehow able to help straighten out my inner self.
A night of washing the dishes, dusting the shelves, making the bed; of cleaning out the fridge, putting away blankets, and clearing out half-used-never-gonna-use-again products from the bathroom is so theraputic for me.
Although I know I missed a few laughs (and some good music) by choosing to stay in tonight instead of going out with my friends... I think I really needed a good solo cleansing.
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