After the ecstasy, the laundry

[As part of my new blog revitalization plan, there is supposed to be a photo here but my TWO cameras aren’t working, and I’ve agreed not to use either Ben's camera or computer in the interest of keeping our marriage alive. Picture this: piles of cardboard boxes all askew, overflowing with gift wrap and beach towels and shredded ribbons and boxer shorts and bottles of hot sauce. Also one pair of electric blue Speedos--trunks, not banana hammocks--that must belong to someone.]

When I worked at the bookstore, I found a greeting card with that quote (from some California Zen white guy) and a cool photo of a shack with towels hanging on the railing. I thought it was a neat idea, and tacked it above my sink to remind me in the morning that whatever fun had been had the night before, I was starting a new day, cleansed and open to all possibilities, blah blah. Also that I should have removed my makeup before bed.

A few months after Ben and I started dating, he remarked that he had always thought that card was weird, reading it as an overtly sexual reference. He implied that it indicated I indulged in conspicuous promiscuity and had to remind myself to do the laundry. I don't know what exactly he meant. My mind was more pure, I suppose. I thought it was a reminder of being ever-vigilant of the present moment, and in finding joy in the mundane necessities of life, like laundry. Not even thinking about what might have soiled said laundry, necessitating its washing. Anyway, it embarrasses me to think about because my parents had just visited me in my apartment when Ben said that. We were still in our Being Blunt phase.

Whatever connotations were intended, I still like to think of this when I’m facing mountains of stuff that would be demoralizing and depressing if not for approaching them as incipient form within formlessness, a chance to take pleasure in sorting and pondering, another safe outlet for my OCD.

Also, these 'mountains' of things to be sorted, organized and wiped clean of Hawaii Decay (yes, even brand-new things are susceptible to mildew) are primarily gifts. Those that aren't are reminders of the immeasurable gift Ben and I were given by our dearest friends coming to join us for our wedding, which was, thus far, the best week of our lives. So it’s not like I’m facing a mountain of papers to grade. That will be in nine days. I got a job, and now it’s time for the laundry.

The real testimonial thank-you post still to come.