According to Isaac Newton (I call him Mr. Gravity), there are three laws of motion. Two of them — inertia and acceleration — are irrelevant here. The third one, however, is driving me to distraction. It’s the one that says for every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction. Forces, you see, come in pairs. Pushing on an object causes that object to push back using the exact same force, but in the opposite direction.
These chaotic, out of control times are forcing me to become even more compulsive. Even more obsessed. And I’m not kidding. The more things fall apart, the tighter my hold on order and symmetry. I’ll now settle for nothing short of rigid organization in my surroundings.
Yesterday, for example, I spent the entire afternoon tracking down every stray dog hair in the place. They’ve become my new, number one enemy. I turned the place upside down and inside out. I vacuumed and vacuumed and vacuumed some more. Then I cleaned the vacuum, including the canister, removing all traces of dust and hairs until it gleamed. Still not satisfied, though, I lint rolled and laundered. I dusted. I polished. I glared at the dog every time she moved. Completely unnerved by the neurotic behavior, she finally sought refuge under the bed.
Today, I’m preparing for Round 2. Tomorrow will be Round 3. And so on and so on into infinity. It’s exhausting, of course, and futile, a battle I can’t possibly win. Brushing her only seems to stimulate the growth of more and thicker hair. I could shave the dog, I suppose. Or bag her, cutting holes for her head and legs. Ooh, how about Saran Wrap? Or a nice coat of varnish?
Okay. See why I never had kids? Happy Mother’s Day, all!
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