Old habits die hard

Getting ready to leave... my flight leaves Newark (cessport of the Northeast) this afternoon... and I realized yesterday as I ironed two shirts (I am not taking on my trip), that this was what I used to do when I lived alone. I would stay up all night, ironing everything in my laundry basket. I would also clean the bathroom, vacuum, and wash any dishes in the sink.

This particular habit probably stemmed from my mother's wish to appear more tidy than she really was. (Hence my wish to appear that way.) It's ingrained. Right now I'm waiting for everyone on the third floor to wake up so I can vacuum my cell. The good news about being a nun is I only had four items that needed ironing instead of a closet full, and there's only one room to clean. But the pattern persists.

"If I die, nobody will have to clean my dirty house." Except that most people don't die on vacation. My mother didn't. And her house was a mess when I finally had to face cleaning it out. There were dirty dishes hidden under the bed in her spare bedroom. There was usually a sink full when I'd drop in on her, and she was embarrassed to have me have to wash them every time. So she hid them, thinking she would find the energy at some point to wash them herself.

We really are a strange species.