Field Notes #5: Yesterday I did the dishes, maybe today I start my new life

Yesterday I did the dishes and cleaned the sink. I was very thorough with everything, and it felt so good—still feels good today. By doing the dishes, I mean I removed the dirty dishes, started the dishwasher, and then did a deep scrub of the sink until it looked pristine. I never, ever want to let the sink look as wild and mad as it did before.

It’s not about the perception—I don’t mind how it looked. It’s about the feeling: the feeling of being choked, unable to breathe, drowning in dirty dishes and house chores, feeling thoroughly defeated and overwhelmed by the melodrama of life.

That’s the thing about the kitchen sink: one dish becomes two, then two become a baking sheet that’s a little more difficult to clean, so it just sits there, off to the side of the faucet—kind of in the way, but still kind of in the clear. Add one dinner plate and a fork, a knife, a spoon—a serving spoon and a spatula—then a bowl from breakfast oatmeal…and two days later, the cycle begins again.

And that’s the thing about madness—it lives and thrives in the world of micro. Micro-moments and small decisions made without enough presence to realize what choice I’m actually making: to stand in front of the dishwasher and decide to unload everything, or to let that intimidated feeling well up inside, pause, and then avoid and walk away without knowing why.

But maybe—and I do mean maybe, because I don’t really know—a whole new world opens up if I just stay, open the dishwasher, pull out the top drawer, grab one bowl, and put it away in the cabinet above the stove where it belongs.