July 27, 2007
I have a presentable apartment excepting only the back bedroom of which we will not speak. I know I probably appear to shout out the tiniest domestic task as if I'd toppled a Hercules. I guess it's just that I'm starting to (trying to) really not despise the day of small things. I have a tendency to look at every task I've completed and say that I should have done it better, sooner, faster, something. I've very rarely afforded myself the pure pleasure of being satisfied the task I've completed. Even now part of my brain screams out to be discontented with what the work I just did. My defense against this discontent is to be childishly happy at every dish washed and every shirt folded. We have been called to be as children, and so I endeavor to take a child's pleasure in my tasks.