In the mornings I wake up and I tidy my bed. The blanket is folded into a rectangle and then into a square. I lay it at the foot of the bed. The pillow goes on top of it, and the bolster on top of that. I tidy my sister's bed, my mother's bed and then my father's bed in precisely the same manner. The clothes and towels are folded into neat, perfect little squares. I stack one on top of another, like pancakes. The floor is mopped with long forceful strokes. Up and down, up and down, from left to right and right to left. The same amount of pressure applied for each stroke. It is all so automatic. My arms and my legs move about on their own accord. They know what needs to be done. My head is completely light and empty. Wiped out. Up and down. Up. Down. I open the windows. Dust out, sunlight in. Gosh the morning air always smells so fresh. I take in a deep breath, soak in a second- I just need a second, one single but solid second for me- of absolute silence and serenity.
It is all strangely therapeutic. The house is clean, and my soul, is purged.