Every time I cleaned the house out south, I repeated to myself as I cleaned, "At the end, there's a check, at the end, there's a check, at the end, there's a check." And I would finish, and I would collect my check, and I would go home, and it was worth the torture to have that check.
But yesterday, something changed, a little something snapped inside as I dusted the endless knick-knacks, Windexed countless glass surfaces, felt the chemicals of the cleaning products burn my eyes and skin, and I didn't care about the check anymore. So I finished, and I collected my check, and I deposited that sum, for the last time, in my checking account.
My account may be a little lighter every month from here on out, but my mind will be, too, and that is what's worth it to me now.
2006-01-20 - 4:39 p.m.
