A River

I am dead tired. Let me tell you why.

One bright afternoon a few moons ago (maybe just one ago), Elizabeth proposed to me a plan. She would pay me (which, in my situation is quite a valuable beginning to most sorts of plans) if I would clean her bathroom. Clean as in scrub. First let us interject that she was willing to pay me to do it because the tasked seemed to her much too daunting to even consider beginning. The last time she did it, she was trying to make herself go into labor with Glorie. (Let me tell you, this side of the job, I have absolutely no idea how she managed to clean the bathroom being that pregnant).

Today the task needed to finally be done. I leave for DC on Tuesday, so the time was running short. I began counting up my minutes, strapped on my iPod, and looked over all the assembled chemicals just waiting to eat my brains cells all up. (If I don't get into any sort of college, blame it on the bathroom)

I began. I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. With a toothbrush. I scrubbed the shower, I scrubbed the floor. I scrubbed the little teeny grout cracks that go between the many, many tiny tiles that make up the (white) floor. I scrubbed under the table and around the toilet.

I sprayed bleach. I sprayed Mr. Clean. Then I ran downstairs, afraid that the funny smell I whiffed was the deadly mix of bleach and supposedly unknowin ammonia in the Mr. Clean trying to come and eat my lungs up. Don't worry, I'm still alive.

I jammed, I sang. (And Liz closed the door. I can't stand how you always sing off-key when you have earphones on...always!)

A few breaks were had. A bit of rest here and there. Some texting and tweeting.... Water started seeping through to the kitchen and we still don't quite know where it came from.

And then I was dusting. And the shelf wasn't as secure as I wish it could have been. And I knocked over a perfume bottle, sending it's glass lid crashing to the floor. And it crashed. And broke. I tried to get one or two steps over to where the broom was and as I put my foot down, JAB, a fat piece goes right into the ball of my right foot. I yelp and then check out the damage. It seems okay...maybe it wasn't actually that bad. Wait, I saw a piece of glass with blood on it. Oh wait, now there's a river of blood gushing from the spot. And now there's a lake of blood in my curled up toes.

I yell for Liz. That I'm cut. Peter yells from downstairs asking how bad...I say bad. And I run (hop) over and hold my foot under the shower, having dropped big splats of blood along the (newly cleaned) floor as I go. They come with wet cloths and I sit down and press on the cut as Liz sweeps up the glass...

It was kinda a sad story, to have the day of triumphal cleaning turn out that way. But I have to admit, blood is slightly interesting to me (in a non-vampire, medical sort of way), so it didn't ruin my day or anything. We comforted ourselves with the fact that Wendy our doctor friend was slated to come over for dinner and Liz wondered whether I would need stitches.

I didn't need stitches and it hardly hurt through the whole thing. It did lead to me bleaching the floor one final time (this time to clean blood instead of dirt), and we had a lovely night of dinner (Wendy made Thai curry) and friends. My one pain is my arm. Literally. All that scrubbing must have worked my poor little muscles so much that I'm feeling like I need to go to bed just so I'm asleep and not feeling my arm hurting. It was worth it, though. I made some money that I can use in DC, so I'm satisfied. And it's an interesting story.

Oh, and I tried to dry my ear out with a blow-dryer. The water from swimming last night (exercise swimming -- I've decided I need to add it to my exercise routine because I am sadly out-of-shape with it) is still residing down in my ear somewhere, and Wendy suggested either a mix of rubbing alcohol and white vinegar (neither of which we have) or a blow dryer. So I blow-dried my ear.

Interesting night indeed.