I reach for a clean rag and some vinegar. I spray the mirror. Always start at the top and work your way down. I wipe, and dance my rag across my reflection. Face. I see my face, staring back. I look pale, and tired. But not thirty. Definitely not thirty. I perfect the glass, so no smudges can be found.
I spray the sink. I scrub with the rough side of my sponge. I rinse and dry and look for any flaw or blemish. I wipe down the cabinets. I clean the commode and the bathtub. I step back I am pleased with my work. I vacuum the floor and then I mop. Sometimes my mop is a microphone.. sometimes a dancing pole.
I whistle sometimes while I work. I sing. I talk to myself in my thoughts. I make plans, I debate. I write poetry and do simple math. I plan an escape to someplace warm and exotic. I pretend I am a sexy, vibrant movie star, playing a part of Cinderella. Then I come back to reality and realize I am in someones bathtub. People are naked here. I laugh at my silliness.
I pass the time this way. as I slowly meander through my work day. Room by room. House by house. Oh, how I would love to have a house! I wonder if these people realize what they have. I think about the gap between them and myself. Do they work any harder than I? Perhaps they are indeed smarter, but I have heart. I fought, scratched and clawed my way to where I am and for what I have. It may not be much. But it is something.
My body get tired and sore. Carrying in and out equipment and supplies. The Kirby. I loathe the Kirbs. It has great suction, but it sucks. God bless all the rich people with Dysons .. they are so much lighter.
I like looking at peoples photographs as I dust. Pretty things, come in and out of my hands; hands that hold ever so gently. Careful not to break glass or trust. I do not take, only M & M's from the candy dish or some water if they offer. After all, who you really are is the you when no one is looking.
This is all for something better. I think. This is not for always, just for now.
