Sweet Mystery of Life

It is a mystery to me why, when my husband is out of town on a business trip for two or three or sometimes four days, I let everything around here go to hell in a hand-basket. Dishes pile up in the sink, food is left out on the kitchen counter, clothes are everywhere including on the floor, there's no food in the fridge--you get the picture. Yet when he is home I am maniacally, dare I say annoyingly, neat.  Even I think it's odd how neat; sometimes I walk in the house and look around and think, Hmmmm, does anybody live here?

Maybe it's to have some fun when he's gone, since when he's gone I don't have much fun. Except for all the making of the mess, like the non-cooking of dinner and all that non-shopping for food. That's pretty much fun. And the non-doing-the-laundry, did I mention that? And the popcorn for dinner and the sleeping in the middle of the bed and the ability to read a goddamn book in bed, Jesus that is like my favorite thing, but sometimes you gotta turn that light off right away because "somebody" has an early flight. Anyway, I'm glad he's coming home, or else this place would turn into quite a dump. Besides, the most fun of all is cleaning up the very mess I've made, since I am at heart very neat, which is why I love cleaning.

Or maybe it's because we turn over so much of ourselves to our partners in marriage that we need to have something else. Could that be why? The mystery deepens.