Catharsis, thy name is cleaning!

I didn't understand it.  When we were growing up, whenever Miss Looswheel was angry with her spousal unit, frustrated with her daughter, or just plain torqued at her son, she would clean.  The kitchen floor would glisten.  The cupboards would be organized.  And oh, the toilets--you could literally see yourself in them, should you care to look!  I'm absolutely certain that I had a great deal to do with having the cleanest house in town!  But it just didn't make sense to me.
Fast forward a few(?) years.  Genetics is a powerful tool!  I am not what you call an immaculate housekeeper in my basement kitchen, or basement for that matter.  Out of sight is out of mind.  And, if you would have seen the basement, you would have said I must be out of my mind!  Two precipitors have changed its appearance.  First, my sister is coming to stay with the dogs whilst we traverse the upper northeast quadrant of Zambia.  She IS an immaculate housekeeper, and has an affinity for washing clothes.  I thought I would be gracious and at least clear a path to the machinery.  Call it my overwhelming generosity!  (Or guilt, if you prefer!  Have I mentioned Miss Loosewheel lately?)  Anyhow, one can get from the bottom of the staircase to the washer without tying a rope around one's waist to find the way back! In fact, I truly believe you can do it without stepping on anything but floor!  Amazing.  Once the kitchen is spruced up, I will feel confident in our departure.
But another amazing revelation has struck!  I am worried about the health of a very close friend.  We have been confidants, confessors, and admirers of each other's cleverness for longer than I care to mention (40+ years!)  She currently is taking the rest cure at the hospital (please see my tongue coming directly through my cheek.  Rest?  Hospital?  Never happen!)  She had an emergent heart procedure last night, and is in the excellent care of our local medics.  But the mind wants to wander to what-ifs, and knowing they are stupid and avoiding them are two totally different things.  So I cleaned!  There were clothes to do.  There was a floor to find.  There were boxes to empty and take to the recycle bin.  And it kept my mind busy.  And positive.  And the time passed, and I had time to process the fact that worrying was useless.  Unless you were Miss Loosewheel's son.  You see, mom always maintained that if she hadn't worried about something, it would have happened.  Remember that comment on genetics.  Apparently mental illness runs in families!  Anyhow, the basement is clean, the friend is on the mend, and I have catharted!  All in all, a pretty positive day!  And you are loved!