In the dream it smelled nice too

Last night I dreamed I was cleaning. I’d wake up, turn over and find myself right back in the same place, over and over again, cleaning and cleaning.  You would think, what with me feeling about cleaning the way that I do, that this dream was more of a nightmare, but it wasn’t.  In the dream all the cleaning was that satisfying kind, you know what I mean? Not the sort of cleaning where you’re running a vacuum around and wiping a little spatter off the bathroom mirror, but the kind of cleaning that’s real change.  Like running a soft cloth over something really, really dusty, and revealing glowing wood beneath, or wiping a countertop that’s so dirty that you see a different colour when you do it.  Back when I was younger it was in vogue to sprinkle the carpet with baking soda to freshen it, and then vacuum it up. I loved it. It was the only vacuuming I’ve ever felt any affection for at all. There was something so intensely gratifying about it – the clean tracks where the vaccum had been, it was dramatic.  In this dream I was working clockwise around a room, sorting, throwing away – organizing and cleaning as I went, and I was doing nothing short of restoring order out of chaos – reducing the load.  It felt amazing.

After I woke up, I waited for the feeling to abate. It hasn’t.  I’m sitting here writing to you, and usually given a choice between blogging anything and cleaning, the anything is going to win.  Today though? I want to empty the fridge entirely, hose it down and then put everything back in neatly, throwing away the seven year old yellow mustard and that strange hot sauce we’re never going to use while I go.  I want to go into my closets and haul everything out and scrub the floors of them and send clothes to Goodwill.  I feel like it would be a great idea to dust. I want to wipe the piano keys with water and vinegar. God help me, I want to wash the stairs.  I have all this new yarn that I got in Texas (actually, I should show you all that. There will be more details tomorrow. The DFW Fiber Fest has a KILLER marketplace) and all I should want to do is knit, and instead I want to reorganize the shelves I keep yarn on to make all of that fit in a charming way. Maybe reorganize it all by weight. (With subgrouping by colour?)

I’m sure this feeling will fade, but what ever the cause, I’m going to run with it.

The urge to clean isn’t something someone like me can afford to ignore.

It must be spring.