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Sunday, Sept. 26, 2004 / 9:43 p.m. ~It's Just Housecleaning~ I'd like to be able to articulate exactly how I feel right now. First would be the ambient room temp, the stuffiness, the way my body heats up and feels it's going to break into a sweat at any moment, and I hold still trying not to feel it. I could say I feel lost. That a day without direct human contact feels odd at this point. The week has me seeing, hearing, smelling, too many people, a cacophany of people's sounds, and the forced interaction leaves me cold, and energized at turns. Maybe I could say that I really liked "In the Cut", but now feel I have to defend my position, and it's because I've accused those who do not like it of missing something. Maybe I projected what I wanted to see, but I loved Meg Ryan as this new person, someone she's never been before, and maybe I wanted to meet someone who would take turns ordering me to please him and letting me order him to please me. Or maybe it was the scenes of blood and 'disarticulated' bodies that got to me in that dark, murky, murder mystery sort of way. But this didn't seem like any other murder mystery I'd seen before. I love the nudity and simulated sex, I love the woman straddling sitting man position, and I know what it's like, I've been there, I could relate, I could feel it. And it might be true I'm projecting in reality as well, imagining things I want to happen, picturing, fantasizing, all the while too well aware that it's not whatever I want it to be. Unrelated... I confess I am not a housekeeper. I suck at cleaning. I put it off, all of it, dishes, laundry, dusting, vacuuming, all but the constant scooping of the cats' litter, and this is because I believe it must be done thoroughly, perfectly, every nook and cranny investigated and dusted or scrubbed, and yet this is so tedious I never embark upon it. Until I do. And then it's consuming, it takes hours, every item, every gewgaw and bibelot, and it's too much and I wonder why I have these things, and I know where they came from, they were gifts, or I inherited them, and it's too much and I want to put it all in a big pile and have someone cart it away. I want a room with nothing in it at all. Clean and white and empty. Until it's all cleaned and shiny and reflects everything else and the light bounces off it and I can stand back and have a look and tell myself I did it, I really did it, I made it look good again, these are great material 'things', I like them, they look good here and there, and it's okay. I even cleaned my microwave, inside. I can't believe how disgustingly filthy it was. Who cares, I know, who cares? I accomplished something, do you see? I did something, I was constructive, I was creative, I made it happen. I think I am obsessive compulsive. But I don't need help, I just need a plan. And right now I need to shake this movie from my head. Cost of the War in Iraq
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