These days it's been looking like I'm the Sylvia to her Ted. So insulated and at the core that I actually find myself removed and on the outside.

In order to keep from suffocating, she suggested that during times of stress or difficulty some things should just be put aside. She understands how motion and productivity can keep hearts beating (like a shark breathing), but she can't fathom how keeping things in their place - maintaining things at home - is one of the few ways in which I feel like I have control in life. Still I tried to take her advice. I spent the weekend buried in work or drink (not in tandem). I tried my best to settle into a new comfort of being alone. Thought I succeeded in the latter, I failed in setting aside my illness of order.

On Sunday, I woke up before dawn - hungover and body sore - buckling under the weight of clutter, clatter and cat fur and cleaned for hours. I got on my hands, knee and busted knee and cleaned the wood floor in the living room. I cleaned the fridge. I washed clothes and three loads of dishes. This is how I'm defining myself.