Well-Meant Intentions

Before I went to bed last night, I looked around my house and cringed. It had been several days since I'd even bothered to pick up, much less do any real cleaning. Dishes were stacked on the counter ready for a good bath, the floor was cluttered with random items strewn about by not-so-young children, and my stacks of craft supplies were overflowing the various places I had set them. I knew, before I ever lay my head to rest, that I was going to have to clean today.

Today is Saturday. I do not have to go to work, and other than to attend an event this evening for my son's State Competition in Science Olympiad, I had no reason not to clean. None other than the complete and utter ennui that enveloped me the moment I woke up. 

I thought to cuddle back down into my bed, but I knew that I had things to do, and this pulled me creaking and snapping into a damp, gray world. Oh, I don't mean that in the ugly, horrible way. No, this damp, gray world sparkled with endless crystals, and it smelled of a freshness that no artificial atomizer can create. The air was crisp enough to warrant a sweater. Beautiful purple, blue, and pink flowers drank in the sweet droplets, splashes of color in an otherwise dreary picture. Enough to give the day beauty but not so much to lift the desire to lapse into a state of near unconscious.   

It's raining that lovely spring-y rain that I love. It patters on the roof and sidewalks; cars whoosh through puddles as they rush down my street. This is the kind of rain that makes you - almost involuntarily - settle into a comfortable place to read and relax. It's not intentional. It just... happens. These days are agonizingly sweet to me, and I resented having to ruin it by cleaning. So I didn't.

Instead, I allowed my intentions to fall by the wayside. The dishes still pine for a soapy swim, and my floor still wonders how to shake free of its clutter. Even a disturbing call to my bank didn't shake me from this cocoon of comfort I allowed myself to fall into. In a few hours, I'll be crawling out from under my blanket and getting ready to cheer my son on. Groceries will need to be bought, and yes, the dishes will need to be washed in order to make dinner. But I will have spent a wonderful day doing nothing, and I can't say that I'm sorry for it. So much of my life is taken up by having to do something for someone at some time, that when I allow myself this kind of luxury - even amid a house of chaos - I revel in it... completely guilt-free.