Some people’s moods can be told by the expressions on their faces. Some make their emotions known, loud and clear. Others do their best to remain impenetrable. Still others fall into behavioural patterns. This is my case.
My mood can be told by my sporadic cleaning habits. Taking after Woody Allen (as always, my reading affects the way I think), I could have a diary which later could be dissected to reveal my hidden streak of genius.
Spent the day writing my thesis. Had to release the frustration by polishing the bathroom faucet every time I used the bathroom. Luckily, the water is so bad it gets spotty within an hour.
Another anxiety attack about the thesis and money required extreme measures. Washed the toilet brush and its stand. Feel pursued by a foul smell. Washed myself and the shower in which I’d washed the brush. Came out marginally less anxious. Smell persists.
Home alone. Dishes washed, kitchen counter top cleaned. Still lonely and not willing to sit down to work. Begging question: can there be too much polishing of the faucet?
Had an argument, and got so livid that used the killer powder to wash the bathroom sink. Stubborn filth! Once it was defeated, it was only natural to feel like a winner. Argument forgotten.
And so forth. The fact that the apartment is still dirty as hell is either surprising or a testament to my mental health being more stable than I give it credit for. I never get angry or upset enough to wash the floors.