Everything in my apartment is breeding except me.  There are dust bunnies reproducing under the sofa; plastic bags (stored within a giant plastic bag next to my fridge) seem to beget still more plastic bags, and the nickels and dimes in my change jar must be getting up to something, ‘cause pennies are spilling over the edges and finding their way into strange places, like my sock drawer. 

This evening, I cleared my kitchen table of its motley collection of stuff - a zip lock bag, brownie crumbs, two twist ties, an empty egg carton and a receipt for the discounted Halloween candy I bought at London Drugs.  I made a cup of tea and sat down to write this entry, marveling at how these things accumulate - little souvenirs of the humdrum experiences that add up to make our lives. 

Lately, the cycles of housework seem very profound to me. When you think about it, most of life happens around these mundane processes. So maybe they matter a lot.  I mean, if I were to get hit by a car tomorrow I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if I’d left my bed unmade in the morning.  But on an average day, perhaps that decision is significant.

These are the tasks that structure our sense of time and anchor our lives.  They can be gestures of respect and love for others, or a source of resentment and tension. When we escape from them, we feel liberated (“let’s order pizza instead of cooking”, “let’s leave the dishes in the sink and take off for the weekend)”, but when we’re “on top” of them, we feel like the universe is manageable, like maybe we’re doing a good job after all.  And, for those of us taking care of these chores for themselves alone, what delight would come from having someone else to share the decision of what to make for dinner or to hear someone say “I’ll take care of the laundry today”.

Why, in the middle of a busy work schedule, flu season, shows to organize and an album to promote, I’ve become emotional about housework, is a question I cannot answer.  But I can’t help wonder if love lies somewhere between the dishes done and the dishes left to do.  There must be a song in there too, amidst the small pile of Halloween sized Reese’s Pieces wrappers that sits next to my empty mug of tea.