My legs are hurting. All my limbs are trembling. I am sweaty and weak and exhausted.

Yesterday, I vacuumed for 1 hour and 23 minutes, because I have been woefully neglectful of my house feeling so poorly as I have been. While vacuuming lasts about 10 minutes in my house, I did think that I ought to roll up my sleeves and apply some elbow grease to my abode.

I scrubbed, mopped, wiped, dusted, polished, swept, picked-up, and scoured my home. The silver and mirrors are shining. The color on the television screen is much brighter. The furniture and floors are gleaming. The trash is emptied. The blinds are clean. The artwork, books, and knick-knacks are dusted. And the appliances no longer sport bits of food or stains. The funny thing is that I honestly think that it needs much more work.

Also mixed amongst those labors were three loads of laundry, already washed, dried, folded, and put away. Sadly, it is truly a personal victory these days when I do not end up sleeping with my laundry.

I am exhausted. Fancy's cage still needs attention and Kashi is verging on growing ripe. However, spending a whole, very-long day cleaning is probably more than I should have done. I do think, though, that it is peaceful to rest in a home that is not quite so filthy. I mean, my grandmother's antiques always lends a certain beauty (in my opinion) to my home. But unless you are lapse on your glasses/contacts prescription, if you visited me since last fall (oh, that is terrible to admit) you would see a disturbing layer of dust on everything, grime on far too much, and find only the rug in front of the couch fairly clean.

I cried some of the time, because the labor was difficult. I prayed some of the time because the folks in the midwest are facing a nightmare of momumental proportions, the extent of which will not be truly known for weeks and weeks and weeks. I called B and her husband to discuss my broken weed-whacker (a moment of procrastination wrapped with irritation that my weed-whacker broken after a mere five years of work). I sang. I told Kashi and Fancy stories. I wished for that which I do not have.

At the end of the day (just now), however, I am finally calling it quits, ignoring the rest of the work that ought to be done for a thorough job and taking solice in the fact that my home is far, far cleaner than it has been in months.