March lingers with a cold spring, signifying a year now of pandemic So many Marches indoors, alone, surviving, but existentially bored. My social proclivities have diminished even further. Going outside seems a struggle. I fear crossing the street to shop at Whole Foods. I’m grateful when friends cancel plans and others don’t call. I’m no longer used to people. I want to do new things, but can’t.
Nonetheless, I try every March to clean my house in celebration of the warm weather for rebirth. Time to scrub kitchen shelves and sort the medicine cabinet. I lighten my load in case I need to move house. This year especially, I want to brighten and air out my apartment so I’m willing to bring in people again.
So I read duvet cleaning instructions for my Friday morning sit in the laundromat. I should figure out how to rent a rug cleaning machine from Safeway so I can scrub my couch. I may wax the hardwood floors. I do need to dismantle two Sunflower installations, salvage the lights, and put the metal carcasses on the street.
Fortunately, I don’t need to do this cleaning frantically all at once. I’ll try to take thirty minutes each day to air out a different part of the house. Maybe I’ll find treasure, the treasure of not having.