The state of my house is atrocious.....
I'm not even sure that is how you spell 'atrocious'. Nevertheless, my house is borderline disgusting at this point.
I used to clean my house religiously. (It's more like a large closet, actually... but I digress). I used to wash everything, dust, sweep, scrub baseboards, pick up laundry, and not let food decay in the pan when I was done with it. When I moved here, I was that good of a housekeeper.
The depths of Hell have caught up with me, however, and I've been defeated. I can not pick up a single article of clothing. My shoes are strewn about, as are dishes, the television remote control, a bag from takeout Indian food I had last week, cat toys, towels, empty food boxes, socks, underwear.... Hell, I have a chair sitting in the middle of the room simply because I don't know what else to do with it, or where else it could go.
My mom came to the big city on Saturday. I had to tell her not to come in. And my mom is well aware of what a slob I can be. It was so gross in here that I couldn't let my mom see it.
My mom says that I'm terrible at having OCD. THat I should be better at cleaning stuff. But what you don't realize is how very much I yearn to live in a clean house. That's right. I'm yearning for cleanliness.
You're probably wondering why I haven't started cleaning up the pigsty. How come I don't place my footwear neatly on the welcome mat, why don't I crush the carboard and put the towels on the rack. How come I don't bother throwing away the empty food cartons, or storing the cat toys in my closet.
I simply no longer have the energy to fight with storing all of my belongings into the Depths of Hell. I simply can not face opening my closet and trying to cram another article of clothing into its space, or of trying to fit a single other cat toy onto the shelf, or of cramming one more towel onto the towel rack that only holds a single towel.
Cleaning Hell is a bit like the old saying: There's no use trying to jam a square peg into a round hole. Congratulations, Hell. You win. You have defeated me.
I've made the executive decision that the Depths of Hell will not be cleaned a single other time until Moving Day.
Until then, I'm wallowing in Hell's defeat.
My mother would be mortified.
Toonses.
I used to clean my house religiously. (It's more like a large closet, actually... but I digress). I used to wash everything, dust, sweep, scrub baseboards, pick up laundry, and not let food decay in the pan when I was done with it. When I moved here, I was that good of a housekeeper.
The depths of Hell have caught up with me, however, and I've been defeated. I can not pick up a single article of clothing. My shoes are strewn about, as are dishes, the television remote control, a bag from takeout Indian food I had last week, cat toys, towels, empty food boxes, socks, underwear.... Hell, I have a chair sitting in the middle of the room simply because I don't know what else to do with it, or where else it could go.
My mom came to the big city on Saturday. I had to tell her not to come in. And my mom is well aware of what a slob I can be. It was so gross in here that I couldn't let my mom see it.
My mom says that I'm terrible at having OCD. THat I should be better at cleaning stuff. But what you don't realize is how very much I yearn to live in a clean house. That's right. I'm yearning for cleanliness.
You're probably wondering why I haven't started cleaning up the pigsty. How come I don't place my footwear neatly on the welcome mat, why don't I crush the carboard and put the towels on the rack. How come I don't bother throwing away the empty food cartons, or storing the cat toys in my closet.
I simply no longer have the energy to fight with storing all of my belongings into the Depths of Hell. I simply can not face opening my closet and trying to cram another article of clothing into its space, or of trying to fit a single other cat toy onto the shelf, or of cramming one more towel onto the towel rack that only holds a single towel.
Cleaning Hell is a bit like the old saying: There's no use trying to jam a square peg into a round hole. Congratulations, Hell. You win. You have defeated me.
I've made the executive decision that the Depths of Hell will not be cleaned a single other time until Moving Day.
Until then, I'm wallowing in Hell's defeat.
My mother would be mortified.
Toonses.
posted by Amanda at 18:17
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