I'd Rather Write

    I’d rather write than clean.

    The floors are atrocious, dirty witnesses of neglect.  Some of the neglect could quickly be swept up:  the stray pine needles, sand, dead carpenter ants, and ever-present dirt that gets tracked in from the woods.  Some of the neglect is permanent: the carpet stains from elderly cat misses and bleeding baby rabbits.  All of it overwhelms me. 

    Sweeping and vacuuming are the two worst things to do to my back and shoulders and arms.  A little goes a long way.  On the days I delude myself into thinking just a few minutes won’t hurt, it doesn’t—until a couple hours later.  Even delayed pain is pretty good positive reinforcement for ignoring the filth under my feet.

    When my Kansas pension plan kicks in later this year, perhaps I should set aside a sum for weekly floor maintenance.  Actually, I’d like to include bathroom cleaning with the floors because scrubbing is another arm-unfriendly task.  As I’ve said before, I prefer limiting pain-causing activities to things I love:  flute playing and essay writing.

    And even with those, I exercise a modicum of caution.  For example, because this afternoon is the senior dance band rehearsal, I will not practice my flute this morning.  However, I’ve never figured out how to stay away from the computer keyboard.