There's a cool draft of air from the open windows on the first floor. That smell of a cleaning oven is so strong and reminds me so strongly of my mother doing the same job years ago. She'd get into one of these modes - just get over it and do it modes - and the house would be filled with the sounds of her industry for hours.
The one benefit to these fits of cleaning is that when I finally do wear myself out, I'll be exhausted. That and no matter how much or little sleep I get tonight, I'll wake up to a well cleaned and ordered house. It's a comfort.
I also find that these fits seem to cycle in between creative bouts for me. Almost like a moon cycle, I can count on the light receding from the sky until the moon is just a veiled shadow in the silky black sky. I can feel the curtain draw over my mind and I draw away from writing and creating and begin to order and take stock again.
Not much longer now. Soon I'll be resting. If I'm tired enough it will be a dreamless rest. That's a comfort too.