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My car has been busy, lately, and it shows.
Several trips to various baseball tournaments have resulted in both rusty dust that covers everything and the assorted squished bugs all over the front window. Sticky snack-bar hands on the rusty dust on the doors have left their mark. Inside, plastic spoons and half-used napkins abound. Assorted hair bows that once matched an outfit are swimming under the seats, having lost their hold in the heat of a nap. Picnic blankets stuck with crispy grass accompany folding chairs that never made it back into those handy carry-bags. I am actually baffled as to the origin of a certain pair of shoes that are rolling around, in the back.
None of this is "un-doable." An official trip to the car wash will wisk away the bugs and the dirt and the sticky. Devoting 15 minutes to a purposeful pick up of utensils and accessories will put everything back in its place. I know that, as soon as I do this, I'll wonder what took me so long.
But, it's not done yet. I'm tired. I'm hot. I'm frazzled. And I can't seem to snap out of it.
I need my own car wash. I'd love for someone to take me in for a scrub and a polish. I desperately need someone to blow some fresh air into my outlook. I want someone to take care of all of my trash...throw away the unneccesary clutter and clear out all of the stuff that doesn't belong.
Wouldn't it be nice if it were that easy? Unhealthy worries, gone with the sweep of a hand. Old grudges, forgotten as easily as the sticky spots are rubbed away. Clear, unrestricted views, ready and waiting, after some paper towels and Windex.
I must figure out a way to make this happen. I think I'll start with the real car wash.