Wednesday, 28 August 2013
When the frustrations of my life get too much, I clean.
The sharp scent of ammonia and bleach bite at my nostrils as I spray, scrub and wipe; the steady drone of the Hoover quieting the noise of the tumbling thoughts in my head.
Steamy hot water, foam on porcelain ; the squeak of the cloth as it scours away the dirt, grime and sense of failure.
Fingers prune, joints ache, a thin bead of sweat trickles down my spine .....
but my surroundings are transformed, order restored, and for a short while there is the quiet glow of satisfaction at a job well done.
This is my therapy