My condo is a mess. It’s usually not spotless unless family is visiting. Well, family with babies. If family with babies visit, I care more about the state of my floors and what said baby might find and put in its mouth. Nothing new there. I never cleaned my room or put away my shoes growing up. And my dorm room was a maze of stacked books. Sometimes I had to jump over them to get to the bed. It’s probably good we didn’t have a dining hall in our dorm. I’m not the kind of person who would have regularly returned dishes.
Now that I have learned to approximate grownup behavior enough to keep myself out of trouble, I do chores at least sporadically. I cook. I clean the kitchen enough to cook. I even clean the bathroom. I do laundry when I run out of underwear. And I tidy up enough not to be embarrassed if maintenance has to come in.
But these days, even my bare minimum seems to have gone out the window. I know why. The state of my living space is an outward reflection of the state of my inner self. It’s the same with my weight. I tend to use both as an excuse to physically keep people away, which is a little ridiculous during a time of social distancing, but it is what it is – a useful tool to keep tabs on where my head and emotions are. They don’t talk to each other much consciously, but they sometimes speak together quite clearly through my subconscious. It gets worse when they disagree.
As I come to terms with the fact that social distancing and limited contact with loved ones (I refuse to have no contact with loved ones) may be my new reality for a long, long time, I think my unconscious stress level has ratcheted up consistently for about six weeks. My sleep is not restful no matter how much I get and I am making poor food choices again. This after I did so well on my last set of labs.
It’s beyond my usual self-sabotage, but I am climbing out. Again. Had a few false starts, and maybe this is another one, but I am not inclined to push myself too hard. The stress is not going to go away until we at least have a comprehensive plan and I think it’s best to let myself sit in the stress for a while, to feel it and understand how it is affecting me.
I do have to rein in some of it, of course. It seems odd to rely on TV dinners when I have more than enough time to cook, but if that’s what it takes to achieve portion control, I can live with that. And walking on the treadmill for five minutes when I feel like snacking seems like a good idea (not exercise, slow enough to scuff my shoes as usual). I’m already going to bed early enough to sleep until I wake up naturally.
That’s enough for now, I think. I am not going to work on cleaning up. It feels almost cozy to have all of these things around me, safe. No folding laundry. No putting shoes or towels away. No making my bed. I think I will allow myself to wallow in the comfort of a good mess, at least for a little while longer.