In Anticipation of a Vacuum
Well folks, this is it. I have reached the epitome of domesticity. Tomorrow, my vacuum is set to arrive from Amazon, and I CANNOT WAIT to use it. I officially feel like a homeowner.
Certain things always seem to just exist in homes. Like, does anyone really buy that grippy jar opener thing, or is that part of the package? Apparently, it’s the former. When shopping to fill my apartment, I was shopping in anticipation of anything I might need to live the life awaiting me. So I bought that grippy jar opener thing. And I bought a veggie peeler, a steamer, dishwasher pods, and a bath mat (among other things, of course).
I grew up taking for granted a drawer full of kitchen knick-knacks and am suddenly faced with needing to supply those knick-knacks for myself. I made a Target run the other day just for a wooden spoon. My roommate and I chatted earlier about the color of our placemats. I never thought this day would come.
Today, I dusted, did laundry, cleaned the bathroom, etc., etc. (I even just stuck my face entirely into my sink whilst washing my face as to not splatter and ruin my work.) But I did not clean my floor, because tomorrow, my vacuum arrives, and I will be able to give my floor and rug the utmost attention that they deserve. I ignored the lingering turf pellets (from soccer) and preserved moss strings (from a failed art project) with the understanding that tomorrow, it will be all the more satisfying to vacuum if there is actually a mess. Call me crazy.
The fact that we have an abundance of blank walls in here irks me, as though I expected to snap my fingers and find hygge (look it up). But homebuilding takes time, even if it’s only 600sf and two Olivias worth of effort.
I have a pride, now, for my space. Naturally, I always took pride in my home “up north,” and kept it clean, and helped out when company was coming, and did my dishes (most of the time). But the pride now is different, even with COVID denying us almost entirely of company. Finally, I am feeling that need that my oppressed female ancestors clung to: the need to keep a good home, for my own comfort and sanity.
The day our couch arrived, I clapped with excitement. What does that mean? Maybe I am finally living out the fantasy provided by that Nintendo interior designer game I used to play on my DS. Or maybe it means something else. (You’ll notice I tend to leave out those two words, the ones that start with “g” and then “u” and have to do with a natural aging process; this would have been a good place to use them, but I digress.)
My excitement over a couch and my anticipation of a vacuum mean that I am ready to make permanent… something. Granted, with not much else to do amidst a raging pandemic, maybe I am making lemonade from lemons. But maybe my anticipation of this vacuum not only indicates the need for maturity but a desire for it. And boy, that’s scary.