The whirlwind of appointments one after another meant I had to exit my house, eject out of the atmosphere of calm and order and routine. Day after day the objects I touched quickly then abandoned contributed to more chaos: brush on the counter, dishes in the sink, clothing thrown on the black metal stand disturbed my peace.  Each time I returned home and walked through a room the disorder had mysteriously grown. It became like a haunting, like an invasion of mayhem. It was unsettling.

As I quickly threw back the covers and dismounted the bed, there was no time for anything more than assembling my presence for the next appointment. All of the segments of the maintenance of a life fell due at the same time. The drains needed cleared, the tree trimers were ordered up to come and prune, the deck was cleared for the painter, my teeth needed cleaning, the cat’s thyroid medicine was waiting for pick up, my hearing and eye exams were both scheduled.The more I pursued continuity the more I had to sacrifice the habit of order.

The more my calendar became scribbled with enclosing words, the more the house was closing in on itself.

I like calm, order, tidiness and have a life of a caretaker in any space I choose to live. My eyes are trained to sweep a room looking for what “needs done.”

I operate on three levels. There are the someday things that cannot possibly be attended to now. I have to wait, to push it off into the future as a plan forms. There are the more urgent actions on my list. This plan is motivated by the scratching sound of irritation.

“I can’t take this anymore.”

And then one day I attack a corner, or a room or open the drawers and go into a trance like state. My chest of drawers with shirts and sweater is waiting for me to surge at them with a reptilian glow in my eye. All of the orange items will be rolled and snugged in together one day soon. All of the lighter sweaters sill be arranged by style in the second drawer. It is a  future I am creating in my mind. As the seasons change, I will have to open a lower drawer for the heavy winter protection.

I have begun that part of the plan by sweeping all in the bottom drawer into a bag that sits waiting to be flung out of my car into a thrift store box.

And ,then, the third level is the automatic, ritualistic movement of my hands as I do the daily things. The dishes go in the cupboard, the laundry in the basket, the pills are lined up for my daily blessing of self care.

trapped in thoughts

But when the repair, the maintenance by experts in the outside world becomes necessary, I leave the house feeling I have abandoned my relationship with my daily life. I will drive away and see in my mind’s eye my hair brush thrown down, my dishes piled in the sink, the notes I took from a book piled up unfiled. It feels chaotic, risky, wild, out of control.

But then I remember that I am simply shifting gears between one system of ordering my life to another.

“Not now,”. I say this to myself. “ Not today. It will happen.”

I can relax because I know I always keep my promises to myself.