Dirt in the bedroom – a love story
We all have portions of our lives that we’d rather not disclose to the public. In fact, most of us don’t have to go too far to realize what those things are. Because we already know – all too well.
Am I right?
So the discourse I’m about to write, here on this blank page, is done so with a fair amount of discord. My heart is tugging at it’s own strings. Maybe honesty isn’t always the best policy. But then again, perhaps it will set me free.
I don’t know which adage to abide by, much less believe, so I’m going to go with my gut on this one and simply lay (or would it be lie?) the ugly truth right there on the line.
Forgive me for my transgressions, as I try to forgive myself. My dirty truth has to do with bedrooms, and the messiness of life.
But it’s not what you might be thinking; I’m not talking about that type of messiness.
I’m referring to the ceiling fan.
My story does include a component of love, which unfortunately doesn’t have anything to do with me at the moment. It has to do with the aforementioned ceiling fan. The spinning blades are currently having a torrid love affair with a thick and rather busty layer of dust.
It’s a provocative, dirty, unmentionable situation, but real. So very, very real.
The two of them – the ceiling fan an the dust – have become inseparable. Despite their differences they are literally drawn to one another. The bond is undeniable. Each night they cavort in a dizzying dance overhead my bed.
I believe they are in love. Despite their differences. Despite the obstacles. Despite the risks.
Because love knows nothing of differences, obstacles or risks.
Love only understands love.
And when it is pure (albeit dirty) love is beautiful.
I’m not ready to profess the love between my ceiling fan and its dust-bride is beautiful, but I will say it is nonconforming and persistent.
I separate the two as best I can, because that is what a responsible and cleanliness-seeking homeowner does.
But dust – bride that she is – will not be thwarted. She finds a way to return to her beloved fan blades and together the two circulate the ceiling morning and night, spinning to their own silent song. Twirling and swirling like only two lovebirds can.
Their attraction to one another is magnetic – almost like it defies gravity. Like it is magic.
Which I guess love is, when it is truly meant to be.
Which brings me to the big, unanswered question: Is the love between my ceiling fan and its dust bride meant to be? Is it part of the great plan – part of the world order? Is it something bigger than me – or even bigger than you?
That’s the million dollar question and I’m not sure I have the answer. I do know that I have done my best – over the years and even decades – to keep my ceiling fan free from dust, and my efforts have been nothing if not in vain. No matter what I do, no matter how diligent I am, no matter all my best and very thrilling attempts to use the latest technology (or pillowcases) to keep my ceiling fan undustingly pristine – dust and blades continue to find one another, over and over and over again, in a deja vu that simply keeps repeating itself.
It’s like it was meant to be.
Sort of like true love.
And who am I to question something as big and large and wonderful as that? Besides, my bedroom has another issue, which I believe may be related (and multiplying).
The ceiling fan and its dust-bride have been consorting in ways I don’t want to imagine and in the process have created mini dust offspring. They reside under the bed, like little bunnies. I’d call it inconceivable, if I hadn’t witnessed it myself.
