If there was no PMS, or no first day of Spring, my house would be completely taken over by dust and cobwebs, and I would worry about the same two or three problems over and over until I went crazy. But then the wave comes, and I just have to ride it.... bring on the trash can and the vacuum cleaner.
This is how it goes, they reassured themselves, when she's got a new spell. She sweeps into the corners and the attics with a voluminous patchwork skirt, turban on head, feather duster in one hand and a tool belt around her waist. She cleans like a tornado, throwing used-up and worn-out things out windows and piling them in hallways til they spill over the stairs and down onto the street. Everything is in motion like a clock wound for the first time in years; she is up all night, striking midnight every hour.
Then, in the middle of a mountain of costume hats, glasses, sequined ice skating outfits, and tea gloves, one foot on a stepladder, hammer in hand, to-do list in her pocket, pencil worn down to a nub from furiously ticking off the items, well-- she sits right down, and she weeps. Everyone has forgotten her; it's Spring; dreams never come true; the frogs sing so beautifully; she will never find true love; the buds are bursting yellow and pink for only the briefest, most wonderful moment; and it is not the icy death of Winter or the weighty heat of Summer; it is Spring, short-lived Spring... and she wipes the tears from her eyes with the back of her dusty hand.