11 x 365

When I was young, I would awaken late in the night and clean my bedroom. I would clean all that I could without waking anyone and then I would go back to bed. In the morning, I would finish the job.

My sister and I shared a room until I left my parents home and usually it would get pretty messy. Most of the time I didn't care, but at others, I couldn't get it clean enough. Scrubbing walls and baseboards with soap, vacuuming and steam cleaning the carpets, flipping mattresses and changing linens, even scrubbing out the toy box. When I finished it would be hours later... and that room would be immaculate.

I was working out my issues in a productive manner. Even to this day I have a very high standard for cleanliness.

About once or twice a year, I would decide to paint my room after one of these cleanings. I think it had a lot to do with the fact of if I was cleaning and painting my room, my brothers stayed far away from me. If they came in to bother me, I would point out to my parents that their room was very messy.....

There was always something about a coat of paint that made everything seem cleaner. Like starting over.

I would go to the basement and choose a can of paint. I have no idea to this day why there were at least a dozen gallons of paint in our basement of various colors, but it worked for me at the time.

But I couldn't paint without this:



I listened to this on tape (yes, TAPE! *gasp*) at least a few hundred times from the ages of 9 to 13.

I can't bring myself to listen to the CD again, but occasionally a song will come on the radio, and it reminds me of the moments of peace I had a long time ago when peace was a rare commodity.

Thank you Joe Elliott. You totally rock.