judecorp | I live and I know that I'll burn as I grow.

(This post is !Jennifer. Shhh!)

There are few things I like worse than coming home from out of town to a messy, cluttered house. Usually, I try to tie up all kinds of crazy loose ends before I go away, so that when I return, I can concentrate on unwinding, unpacking, and relishing in my experience. When I live alone, this isn't a problem, because I control all of the variables in my living space. When I lived with A., though, returning from trips was always stressful.

I often went away on trips without him, partially because he didn't have the desire, and partially because he was a workaholic. It wasn't unusual for me to plan a weekend away to visit a faraway friend, or to drive down to see my family, or to catch an e-saver as a spur of the moment luxury. When I left him to his own desires, I often came home to clutter, to stuffy boy-smell, to unscooped cat potties and a host of other annoyances. It drove me batty, and threatened to ruin my vacation afterglow.

My beloved is out of town, though not on pleasure, and tomorrow morning I will greet her at the airport with open arms and longing. And she will return home with a few short hours to spare before she's expected to be at work. (I still don't understand it.) I think those few hours will be very important - a brief respite between responsibilities and a calm oasis of time sans coworkers. I have been preparing the house.

All of the dishes are done, and all laundry has been put away. I broke down some of the boxes that had been lingering, and took out all of the garbage. I cleared out the refrigerator, filed old bills, tossed old receipts, tidied up clutter. I vacuumed. I straightened out the bathroom. I swept the floors, and took care of the cats. Because she has less tolerance for humidity than I do, I shut the windows and turned on the central air. I purchased a dozen roses, arranged them and left them in the sun in the kitchen. I cleared out the office, but just a bit.

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of stress and diligence for my angel, and this has reflected in her inability to create harmony in her own space. Her boxes are unpacked, pilfered through, tipped over in frenetic searches for art supplies and paperwork. Her laundry stood stacked high in the spare bedroom, the endless echo of "I'll get around to it" beating the walls. All energy has been diverted to the thesis, the car, the thesis, the thesis.

It's not like me to go through people's things, because I am a very private person who grew up in a very private home. I will not, usually, go into someone else's drawers or cabinets. I stay out of the spare bedroom because it is her space. But I wanted her to come home to a little break.

I put away all of her laundry, and hung up clothing that hadn't been unpacked yet. I hung all the extra hangers in the closet, and put a few more boxes in there, closing the door tight on them. I refolded her tshirts and shorts that had spilled over and fallen down. I matched her socks from the bottom of the laundry basket. I brought the laundry baskets downstairs, took the easily recognizable trash out of the room, remade the spare bed and moved it more succinctly in the corner, covering her duvet with Jodie's quilt. I restacked boxes in a more manageable manner, combined several boxes into one, and took the extras out. I leaned her paintings against the wall. I put the extra blankets under the bed. The result is a room she can breathe in, with space to walk and quick eyegaze of the things she (eventually) needs to sort through. I think that when she goes down the hall to select clothes for a day of work she shouldn't need to report to, she will feel less overwhelmed.

I wish for her to be at peace, if only for a moment. It's a fraction of the payment deserved for the peace she brings to my life and my heart.