16. sundays are for cleaning
The rooms, the tabs and bookmarks and windows, the bathroom mirror, the bathroom sink, the bathroom tiles. The floor, the laundry, both loads. The gym, the court, the lifting mat. The large brown paper bag where the clipped one nails fall into. The video calls, the little window where i see my own face during FaceTime.
I woke up. I cleaned my face. I toasted 2 frozen slices of rye bread and ate them with blueberry jam and half a banana after i brought them to my desk. I sat and edited, designing the details of the outline of my essay. I rode the N line then the M line muni to mission dolores park. I ate tacos and chips and a burrito and drank horchata with a girl. We thrifted, i obtained a new pair of sunglasses, one with a soft orange-ish filter like Robert Downey jr. i brought home a new succulent plant from a street vendor, in honor of Mother’s Day. (Happy Mother’s Day.) i practiced pull-up jump shots and turn around hook shots. I scored running lefty lays and received words of recognition on my finishes. I lifted weights on a barbell. I squatted down, i pressed up, i pulled back. I followed commands when the staff with the nose piercing and beautiful tan arms kicked me out of the gym, the last one left without realizing. I re-stocked yogurt, eggs, granola and toothpaste. I also purchased a pack of fever tree pink grapefruit soda. For the writing nights, when they come again. I returned home. I washed my hair and body with hot water and soap. I wore my last pair of underwear. I walked down the stairs, carrying my laundry basket. I vacuumed the floors. I mopped the floors. I used the washer and dryer to clean the clothes piled up since Easter weekend, which is now already 4 weeks ago. I sliced strawberries from watmaugh farms in Sonoma. I assembled a yogurt parfait with the crumbs of the old granola, a handful of pecans, and chunks of the new granola. I talked with my grandmothers and with my mom. I researched comedy classes for the next month, scoping the calendar between improv and sketch comedy. I sorted through the pile of dried clothes i made on the floor. I folded them in grou;s. I placed them back where they belong: the cabinet for the pants and shorts, the closet for the shirts and sweaters, the bins for the shirts, socks and underwear. Somewhere in there i already brushed my teeth. I put on my night lenses. Now i remember my retainer.
I finish writing. Blogging.
I feel cleaned. Reset. Centered. Calm. Eased. Reshaped.
Mondays are blue, Sundays are gold Every day happens again And so the story is told
Wanduffle