I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. Even as a little girl I would ask to use the broom or to fold the sheets. Father was scandalized–a princess cleaning? “I don’t pay these people to play with you,” he said. “Stop embarrassing me. Go, go, sing or something.”
I like to sing, sure. Who doesn’t? But cleaning is far more important? Don’t you think? The world is filled with germs and unseen poisons. You’d think father would appreciate the work I do. But no. And then I went to clean for those men. Oh, father never spoke to me again. What else was I to do though, I ask you. Why couldn’t he ever believe it wasn’t enough to sit and be pretty.
But things never got better. I was happy, true, cleaning for all those other men. They appreciated my work, and I’d never had anyone appreciate me before. If you have someone appreciate you, value that. Hold onto to that person. I didn’t, and look where I am now. I thought the time had come to move on, to try a new life, get married, all those things a girl dreams of, right? But everyone knows what happens when you marry too quickly. My husband–such a prince he was!–didn’t want a woman to clean up after him. He had that already. No. He wanted me to lie there and be pretty.
“You can’t be pretty holding a mop,” he said.
The nurses here tell me they can cure compulsions. I don’t know if I believe that. Do you?
Well, I wrote this in my head as was painting. My husband and I just bought our first house and the house needs some work. I need to get the painting done so that I can get my work space back in order because I’m behind on loads of work.
And yet I try to write these stories. Now there’s a compulsion.