Windows are the eyes of the soul

Last weekend for the first time since I was diagnosed with cancer, I washed the windows. In the back, we have industrial-weight 8-foot windows that have to be tipped out of their frames for the outside surfaces to be cleaned, and in the front I have to clamber out onto the fire escape to do the outside surfaces. It's a fairly hair-raising experience, and I haven't felt like taking it on. But three years' worth of city grime had built up a patina that reduced our natural indoor light to a grim murk. Having clean windows feels like taking your sunglasses off after forgetting you had them on. And muscling up to the chore at long last feels like a return to normalcy. Indeed, I realize that whole days go by now when I don't think about cancer much at all. Nights too. Of course, that doesn't mean I don't maintain a high level of anxiety. It just adheres to different issues. Nonetheless it is a relief to be able to turn the channel to a different drama. I was getting a little bored with the cancer channel.