the dirt devil
November 03, 2003 � 9:02 p.m.

First Entry Today

This weekend was�

well�

it just was.

I went home Saturday, and the monster had cleaned the bathroom spotless, put all the food away, straightened up the living room, and did the dishes in the sink. I still had to clean clean, but what he did was noted and appreciated�and of course�made me cry.

I know he feels fucked up not working and not having any money�especially now that his car has broken down (again), so I try not to nag or degrade him, or make him feel any worse than he already does.

Hey, he�s a fuck up, but he MY fuck up�he�s my little man (well�not so little anymore�but little brothers never really do grow in our eyes, do they) and I know he�s doing his best.

I just have to accept that HIS best isn�t always THE best, but it�s all that can be done at the moment.

*sigh*

_____________________________________________________

I cleaned the hell out of my apartment yesterday. I don�t know why it seems like I always choose to clean when I�m in a bunch of pain, but it�s starting to be some kind of fucking trend. And I cleaned like one possessed, too. I rearranged the cabinets in the kitchen, dusted, cleaned off all the glass in the living room, rearranged my closets, vacuumed the floors, folded and put away my clothes, flipped my bed, cleaned under my bed, and cleared out the last couple of boxes I had with my stuff in them.

What started this cleaning whirlwind, you might ask?

I woke up Sunday afternoon and called my mom. While I was laid up in my nightgown, one of Darryl�s boys came in, and I had to quickly sit �ladylike� on the couch and at the same time, my mom asked, �Is the place straightened for company?� and I blushed, looked around, and cursed myself out�in my head. I said no, I had just got up and was about to start�and to prove it, I hung up with her and sat and watched TV for three hours with my feet up while I ate bowl after bowl of apple cinnamon cereal.

I can�t remember why, but I went to my room, and upon entering, I noticed a strange , overpowering, smell dancing around in there. I inhaled deep. First whiff was my scent�the faint lotions, sprays, and perfumes I use everyday. I inhaled again. Second whiff was the underlying smell of musky, dirty clothes. That almost funky, but not that funky yet smell clothes get when you�ve worn them a few times. But that wasn�t it�that wasn�t the strange smell. I stepped into the center of the room�looked around for anything amiss amidst the clutter�and inhaled again.

After a moment, I realized what it was.

It was the smell of loneliness. The smell of regret. The smell of anger. The smell of defeat. The smell of sex. The smell of shame. The smell�of love.

I grew dizzy and whirled around in the room, wondering why the smell was so strong now�why it was so stagnant and pungent in my room�and only in my room�and as I plopped down on my bed, I figured out why.

It was the smell of Swiz.

His scent was everywhere. On my floor, on my pillows, on my bear, on my comforter�everywhere. His smell was stronger than mine. He was stronger than me. He hasn�t called me. He doesn�t miss me.

He doesn�t love me.

It�s over.

He was everywhere and nowhere all at once, and the sadness crawled into my heart and stretched it�s razor blade wings as I sat there holding myself�haunted by images and words that meant nothing to him�and everything to me.

But I refused to sit there and wallow and cry. Instead, I exorcized his smell from my room by cleaning it top to bottom and sprinkling carpet fresh and burning candles, and it felt so good that I just swept through the whole place until I was finished.

I made a great dinner and some tea for Darryl, took a shower, watched Carnivale, and went to bed.

Joke was on me, though.

With all that cleaning there was three places I missed.

His scent was still on my pillows.

His voice and face was still in my mind.

He was still in my heart.

And I fell into an exhausted sleep, shedding bitter tears�dreaming of things that will never be.