today i’m going to try and clean house. it’s not so much “dirty” as it is mussy. at some point this week, i stopped picking-up after myself. we all know the signs and symptoms.
a towel drops on the floor, and you leave it there. you bring groceries home, and half of them remain in bags cluttering the hallway. jackets don’t find their way to a hanger in the closet. clutter. the kind of stuff that men invented wives-for.
the reason a woman bachelor lives more “cleanly” than a male bachelor, is because most women are not brought up to believe in the muss-fairy: the magical being that trails after every man and sets things back in order. so why did i let my domain get this cluttered?
oh, part i suppose is the back acting-up. it’s hard to stand at the sink doing dishes, when standing in one place for any longer than one minute causes spasms and aches so severe that your only way around them is to pretend it really doesn’t matter.
another reason is for the contrast — there is no greater way to promote-satisfaction, than to go from “gee, what kind of pig lives here” to the sense of peace and tranquility that only a tidy home can bring. because we’re wired to NOT have any peace if the mess is too much. it’s why guys always win the “wait out the mess” game. you’re always going to lose and give-in first, because it turns out sanity is more important than training a male to get a clue and clean-up after himself.
but when it’s ME — i’m the one leaving all the muss about — i’m the culprit. i’m not sure what that falls-under. see, to an extent, efficiency DOES leave things to be straightened at one time. you will actually save time and effort by letting things be to an extent, and then cleaning them all at once.
but there’s a very fine line between letting things be to clean all at once — and such a monumental mess that you are persuaded more often than not, to put off cleaning one more day, and one more day ….
then you wonder why you feel so crappy, and like you’re walking around shouldering a pile of bricks. it’s because you can’t relax in peace, without viewing those bags full of groceries that need to be put-away. you can’t calmly read a paper, when various markers are left trailing on the furniture and floor — of every project you initiated in the last two weeks.
and you sit and write a damn blog — when should be getting off your ass, and cleaning.
this is my life. don’t envy it — pity the damn creature. at least if i worked, and had a “real” job — i would have an excuse for not giving a shit about the state of my container.