My god, I think I can see my bedroom floor.

For the first time since The Shit (plural) Hit The Fan, I have managed to clean up my bedroom in tota ( yes, tota is a word; look it up). While I've been (cringing a bit) pretty good about keeping up the bathroom and the kitchen, my bedroom has just been a repository for all of my greif.

While I would wash the clothes, folding them seemed like too much work. When I was looking for shoes, putting them back seemed like too much work. So was hanging anything back up. Needless to say, my bedroom floor was pretty much covered with every piece of clothing I owned ( not, not kidding) and every shoe I have worn in the last 3 months ( also not kidding). That may not sound like big deal, but there could have been a whole family of opossum living in there for all I knew, or cared.

I hadn't vacuumed or dusted in there since I had the housecleaners come after Griffin died. I had changed the sheets on the same principle that I was still washing clothes and bothering to bathe regularly: I didn't want to become THAT person. I was already sleeping most of the day and eating maybe once and barely living, only leaving the house if I had to. I had stopped crying on a regular basis, and while that was a step forward, I realized if I succumbed any further by stopping all hygenic goals, I would be coasting downhill toward becoming A Crazy Californian Who Once Had Dreams, of which there are far too many here already.

So this weekend, with estrogen riding high, fueling my need to clean and nest, as it does every month, I decided to commit to tackling the bedroom. I just felt it was time.

I folded all the clothes. I put them all away. I put the shoes back in boxes and put those away. Tomorrow I'm going to hang up all the clothes that belong in the closet ( but for now they are neatly folded and stacked in a basket). I will replace the vacuum cleaner belt that I bought the week Anthony left and vacuum the house of my own accord for the first time since then.

I've scrubbed the kitchen top to bottom. I even organized the freezer. I scrubbed the bathroom, too. Even the walls.

I feel good. Like I'm getting control of things again. It's the little stuff. When the big stuff has all been broken beyond repair, and the best thing you can do is say, "Well, I guess it's an opportunity for a whole new beginning when I rustle the strength to get there", it's the first small steps that make you feel like, hey. Maybe I can do this.
I can.
I can.
I can.
And I'll keep saying that til the "job" of this Doing is done.