I am bereft of my soul today. Well, not my soul, per se, but all that makes it soul-full. I am soul-empty today. I think that's why God gives me dirty dishes. He gives me a chore to do, he gives me the mindless acts to perform, and in the performing I am lifted up a bit. Just a smidge perhaps, but it gets me off my rear end, and out of paralyzing melancholy and over to the kitchen sink.
"Joy" it says on the dishwashing liquid, which I find ironic. Happy happy blue liquid mocking me. But in the act of sudsing, in the act of rinsing -- one plate, one more plate, then a glass and a mug -- my mind is soothed somehow. I can make order out of kitchen chaos if not mental chaos. I can pull myself out of the doldrums enough to at least perform arcane tasks. Look at me! I must have hope! I am making my glasses sparkle!
The behavioralists are right in my case. When I drag my sorry ass to the kitchen and force myself to do something, anything, I am healing this funeralistic feeling just by a smidge. God knows I can be good at wallowing in dark halls of my mind, and when I call Him and can't find Him there, at least He sends me dirty dishes. My soul eventually finds some rejoicing in the ordinariness of life. Normal is sometimes all I aspire to reach.