Entropy

Dearest Rachel –

I tend to think of this word as being synonymous with chaos or disorder; slightly more scientific than either of the other words, with a literally universal meaning to it, insofar as the cosmos tends toward it all the more over time (although, on such a scale, one could expect the process to be imperceptible, even when measured over lifetimes). I’ve since discovered that the concept has a more specific, almost mathematically precise definition, but as physics has never been – and will never be – a strong suit of mine, I’ll stick with layman’s understanding of the term for the purpose of this letter, as what I encounter hasn’t all that much to do with the scientific discipline, whether on the macro or the micro level.

In fact – if you’ll forgive a quick digression, honey – human existence don’t generally spend a lot of time dwelling on things like those, unless they have something to do with one’s profession and livelihood. On an ordinary basis, we can’t deal with things that are either so much bigger or smaller than ourselves; if we can’t see or hold it, it’s not for us to trouble ourselves with. If nothing else, we have enough on our plate when it comes to the things that we can see and grasp, that trying to extend our attention to what is so far outside of our scale in simply extraneous.

In short, while entropy may have a specific scientific definition – one that essentially describes and predicts the heat death of the universe, in fact – we have more than enough of the concept, in its more pedestrian form, in dealing with our daily lives. All of which I hardly have to remind you about; as a homemaker yourself, you found yourself overwhelmed by the daily struggle against its constant encroachment. In fact, it rather took your departure before I – with a lot of outside help, I should acknowledge – could cut through and eliminate the worst of what had engulfed us here at the house.

Which leads me to the present, and the notice that, inexorably, it’s trying to mount a comeback. It’s been several weeks since my return from Honduras – and almost two months since Kris was last over to the house to clean the place. To be sure, she did try to schedule an appointment last month at around this time, but that would have had her coming over while I was gone, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that. Not that I supervise what she’s doing – in all honesty, I can’t always see the effects of the deepest cleaning she does (yeah, bachelor life), so I trust her implicitly to do what needs doing – but I prefer to pay her as soon as she’s done, and have it out of the way. It’s the sort of thing that bugs me no end about our landscaping service, since they don’t send their bill for a month or two.

But again, I digress.

In two months, I’m starting to actually notice places where dust is starting to build up. You’d think that being out of the house for a period of time would preclude things from getting too messy – not to mention the fact that, by confining myself to a couple of rooms (essentially, the kitchen and the bedroom, with occasional seatings at the dining room table) the rest of the house would stay relatively untouched. But, as we would say to each other whenever we would start at sentence with that phrase… you would be wrong.

Granted, part of that might have to do with the fact that I’m not the only thing contributing to the mess. As the science postulates, the universe tends toward chaos and decay, and the house serves as a microcosm of that principle. When a room is undisturbed, dust is finally allowed to settle, to the point where even I can notice. This is summer, too, and the outdoors is teeming with wildlife that wants in for one reason or another – humans aren’t the only creatures that enjoy air conditioning, and like the outlaw that robbed banks because “that’s where the money is,” the house is where the food is. Fortunately, we haven’t had to deal with more than the occasional bug or fly, but that’s more than enough to disturb the tranquility of the place.

Of course, there’s also the boys. Logan’s mess is confined to his room (where even Kris rarely dares to venture, when she’s over) and ‘his’ chair in the family room; and the wastebasket next to that chair fills up with an astonishing quickness. While he usually cleans up after himself in the kitchen, that wastebin could stand his participation in more than just filling it up.

And then, there’s Daniel. This morning, I woke up to the basket of colored clothes full to overflowing; he’d finally cleared the landing of his jackets and hoodies – each still with the shirt he’d last worn with them still tucked in the sleeves, like he’d taken both off at once and never bothered to separate them – and sent them down to me to run through the laundry.

Still, I really need to combat the advance of this chaos, because I can’t do it alone. I’ve gotten in touch with Kris, and while her schedule this week is busy, I can expect to hear from her some time next week. I can only hope that it doesn’t get too much worse between now and then.

And to that end, I’d like to ask that you keep an eye on the both of us, and wish us well that it doesn’t. We’re going to need all the best wishes we can get.