I've never been the good housewife.
My laundry piles, dishes forget themselves, the beds wakeup differently than I'd hoped for. It offends me, deeply.
I make schedules written on chalkboard but before I can finish Sunday, sweet little hands have wiped my hand to dust.
My creative spark may be sucked up in this never ending verse- circling around my head- faster, faster, faster. So I fight it, making it vicious, armed with wire to trip on.
It will never end.
For I am the beginning and the end of it, the halo is born of me.
I think about longevity and how it's all in vain. I stare at these things: the dishes and clothes hung, the kitchen table. I wonder where it will end up in a hundred years. My favorite dress will be moth eaten and ragged, my writings will be recycled and the plates I wash will crumble and fall to the dirt.
I have to keep on washing though. It's the motion, not the thing I hold in my hand. Anything held can be taken away, taken for granted.
So, I'll focus on the motion, the way my hands move to make a home and I'll find the joy in every single day, scrawling this all on my heart.
Then, when I'm tired and feel like giving up again, I'll turn to Proverbs 31:10-31. I think thats who I want to be when I grow up. ..