Cleaning

I don't do much cleaning. Neither does The Husband. We do the basic picking-up and wiping-down when we're going to have people over, but that's about it.

We just never developed the habit.

I know I had to clean the house when I lived with my parents. I had a list of chores I had to do, which included vacuuming and dusting and cleaning the bathroom mirror and sink.

I don't do any of that now. Maybe once every couple of years. (I do Swiffer-Vac the floors every so often, but I don't count that as vacuuming. I don't know why.)

When times were more prosperous we had a lady come in every other week and clean for us. That was awesome. I miss that. But I don't miss it enough to try and fit it into my crazy schedule. Trash and dishes and laundry and caring for animals take up enough of my time. If I leave the dust on the shelves, then it's not in the air, right?

Cleaning House

I'm officially sick. Yeay. Fortunately it doesn't seem too bad (knock on wood). I slept a lot yesterday and am heading back to the day job today.

While I was on vacation in December I cleaned out the computer room, which involved sorting all the papers on my desk. I have a giant stack of things to scan sitting next to the scanner. This week I started doing a little each night while we watch The Daily Show and The Colbert Report.

Part of me wonders why I bother. Do I really need to scan all the bills and the payment receipts, so I can keep them forever and ever?

I suppose that even if I am just transferring my pack-ratness from physical to digital, at least it doesn't take up room. It's not a mess. It's just going to be this giant file sitting on my hard drive. I'll be able to show my nieces and nephews, Look, this is what it cost to heat the house in 2008. Of course, it's hard to say whether any of them will have my bent for history. I'd find a heating bill from 1952 fascinating, myself. But I'm weird like that.

100 Words About: Cleaning

We're looking at adopting a second dog, and the nice people are coming out to the house tomorrow to make sure we're not hoarders or something. (I kid.) So I've spent three hours cleaning, and still have to vacuum the living room. Blarg. Fortunately The Husband is handling the upstairs, which is Cat Litter Mess Central.

There is something sort of primal about a deep clean. Not the brush-the-crumbs-off-the-counter kind of cleaning, but the my-elbows-hurt-from-scrubbing kind. It's like once I get started I just keep going and going. When I realized the mopping cloths I'd bought wouldn't fit my Swiffer, I even (briefly) considered the old hands-and-knees scrubbing routine.

Fortunately I came to my senses. I'm getting too old for that crap. (Or so I tell myself.) So I'm off to try skating around my kitchen with mopping cloths under my feet. Wheee!

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