Fort Chronicles

12 Jun

In-keeping with the context of this post, here are a few things I’ve learned the past few weeks.

Housekeeping is.a.pain.in.the.ass and isn’t as pretty as it looks in our dreams/desire to actually keep/maintain a house. I’ve always dreamed of a neat and tidy house which has the works; right from good furniture to wall hangings to lamps and so on. We all want these lovely things and more irrespective of the location and size of the house we dream of living in. But keeping a house up and running and making sure it’s not just a house but a warm home everyone wants to come back is just too much work! And it’s work I don’t enjoy doing very much, least of all every day. That thought scares me. And I don’t want to think beyond today and how I’m ever going to manage a house/home. Really.

I’m not obsessive about banishing dust particles as I am about keeping, leaving and coming back to a neat and clean home which doesn’t have bits and pieces of everyday living strewn all over the place. I enjoy furniture kept in place, the bed linen crisp and folded well, the bath linen fresh and clean, the bathroom fresh, clean and dry, the kitchen well stocked and functional like that of a lovely lady’s warm hearth, the kitchen counter sparkling (I’m a bit fastidious about this), the vessels clean, dry and in place when I leave home and get back home as well.

However this hasn’t been the case ever since the mother decided to throw us in the wind and holiday away. I mean this isn’t the first time we’ve held fort and I must say we’re a good 8 years worth of the holding fort experience. But I think it’s age (a post on which is lying plum in my drafts folder as of now). I think the excitement of wearing the grown up hat has long vanished. Where you’d find me dusting every nook and corner of the house so diligently back then, you’d now find me sitting here and telling you about how I used to do all those things back then instead of actually picking the duster up now and putting myself through a massive sneeze fest. By the way, that’s what I fall back on now – that the dust allergy is just too much for me to take. It’s not a lie and it’s oh so convenient. Also, I don’t know if it’s just my eyes or selective vision/perception, but dust seems invisible to me. When I see dust screaming out to me, I do attack it at the earliest. I’m not that bad. I’m getting there though.

So I do concur that, dust apart, housekeeping is such a pain and not pretty at all. It’s terrible to get back home tired only to have these chores loom large over you because had it been your mother, they tell me, they’d have long been dealt with. That brings me to the other part – that I’m.just.not.ready.to.have.a.house.of.my.own. Grow up!!, you might want to scream at me, and maybe you should, but I don’t know why this time hit me the hardest. It’s not like I’m moving away anytime in the near future for me to have a panic attack like this. But the thought of doing something like this every single day of my life just seems so daunting. I realize the umbilical cord must eventually be cut, but the thought of it seems distressing. And of course it is. I’ve said it time and again that I really do admire everyone who’s out there, away from their mothers/fathers/families and holding fort. I really, really do. And for those of you who have kids as well, I bow to you. You are my inspiration. Well, only after my mother of course, but my inspiration you are nonetheless.

And just so you know, cleaning in no way pacifies me, no sir it doesn’t. I despise cleaning up unless it’s the kitchen counter I have to sponge so it sparkles in no time. I despise washing dishes the most. I can sweep and swab the house because the instant feeling of cleanliness makes me feel clean in a weird way. Dishes on the other hand are messy and need drying after washing and have nothing instantaneous about them so they don’t even rank on the list of things I might do if you bribe me. JK! But cook for you, I can. Fatigue, state of mind and time of day do not feature as influencing factors when it comes to cooking. Now that is therapeutic and so welcome. That’s what I’ve learned through these weeks too. Cooking = yay! Cleaning = nay! Done. Signed. Sealed. Delivered. Capiche?

Growing up is such fun! In my dreams.

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