learning, cleaning

At the end of a very full, very exhausting conference I ponder this thing called literature.
How can a simple story, parable, novel, phrase prod so much research, introspection.

I just, just--as in the moment before I clicked my "blogger" button--finished The Secret Life of Bees. Today alone I read about half of it. I sat at the reception desk at my doc's office: reading. I waited for my adjustment: reading. I walked all the way back to campus: reading. I even walked my bike up from the dorm bike racks... you guessed it...
My nanny kids were a little upset with me this afternoon when I couldn't pull my nose out of this book to play with them every moment, but I did manage to rip myself away every so often to tickle Sammy, chase Brendan. The book was, is, just so, so GOOD.

I need to re-read it to fully grasp what this thing in the pages that is pulling at my chest, draining out my tears, but I already know that it is what I need. It is brokenness, I have so much, and it is love, I want so badly. And more.

For now, though, I am going to clean, because that is what I do. A busy little cleaning bee.