Page 32 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
She’d stuttered and run into her room, slamming the door. Before she came back out, I’d made it in the shower, determined to work out my feelings for her. I knew it was pathetic, but whenever she left, I felt like Cinderella’s prince, waiting around for her to come back. I couldn’t wait for her to be done with work so that I could feed her, talk to her, and get that look in her eyes to go away.
I’d do anything if I could have her. Anything. If she just gave me the slightest hint, I’d move. If she opened the door, I was jumping in.
But she seemed like someone who’d had it rough, and I’d never pressure her.
Once I got out of the shower, she’d left for work, but I had some time before I needed to get to the office.
I looked around my house.
God, it really was a mess. Jessica was right.
If I was going to be someone who cleaned up his act, I needed to literally clean up my act.
I glanced at Elvis. “Some help you are.” With a creaky sigh, he got up, ambled over to me, and thumped me soundly with his tail.
“Aw, I didn’t mean it, boy. You go be a good dog and sit in your bed.”
Elvis looked at me like he knew what I was talking about and climbed into his dog bed.
I picked up both of the turtles and put them in their cage. “Hang out here for a second, guys, while I clean up the rest. Then I’ll clean your cage.”
I did all my laundry, folded it, and put it all away.
In the kitchen, I put all the dishes that had been scattered around the house in the sink. Then I sudsed up, washed and dried them, and stuck them back in the cabinet.
This was the spring cleaning my house needed so badly.
I moved the couch.
Holy shit. There was stuff under there that had probably been there forever, including a dead lizard. “Sniper, was this you?”
He answered me with a meow.
I swept the whole house, beat the rugs, vacuumed, and dusted.
I didn’t need to do a workout. This cleaning up thing was a fucking workout in itself. I took off my shirt and wiped my brow with it.
After an hour, I realized I wasn’t going to make it to work, and I called in sick.
I was sick of living in a mess.
I found myself an hour later, sweaty, blasting Journey, “Don’t Stop Believing,” as I mopped the floor like Cinderella.
Cinder-fella.
Another hour later, I sat on my porch and drank a huge glass of water. I was amazed at what it felt like to clean my house. Like I was an actual human being.
Like I had my shit straight.
I’d never felt before like I had my shit straight. I’d always felt like I was just barely hanging on.
Maybe this was the start to a new me.
I looked at the alert on my phone. Time to go.
