Thoughts on the psychology of cleaning

So, if I'm adding correctly, I've been living in my new apartment for three weeks. I've kept things somewhat tidy, but not exactly clean.

When I was pregnant, I thought I would hire a cleaning service as a sort of indulgence, a pampering that would: keep me away from harmful chemicals, treat myself, and keep me from over exertion (I tend to vacuum like a fiend). I've been watching the size of the dust bunnies growing in the corners, and checking out a few services on the internet.

When I found out today that I had miscarried, I came home, ate a little snack, and immediately got to work scrubbing floors.

Now, I was not hands-and-knees bucket in hand, but I was sweeping, mopping...

As I watched the wood floor go from dull to shiny, I started wondering about myself and my almost neurotic desire for clean floors. I mean, the tables can be stacked high with paper and mess, and I don't care, but when I see dirty floors, I'm grossed out.

The only thing I can think of now, is that it is a clean slate...a baseline cleanliness that it is somehow akin to the beginning of a semester...the fresh bouquet of newly sharpened pencils...fresh start.

So, my little apartment smells clean. My slate is clean. I am wondering what will come next.