Thursday, May 04, 2006

I hate cleaning.

My house is currently a mess. Now last Thursday I went and had my wisdom teeth out and I spent a few days lying around on painkillers (and a fun few days they were, too) but I don't think I can use that as an excuse anymore, because the stitches came out yesterday and I've since been spotted eating a cheeseburger and fries. No, I'm going to have to clean. I'd rather go through dental surgery again.

It never stays clean, is the problem. I could clean this house so spotless it would make Martha Stewart cry and slap her momma and within 8 hours the furniture will be buried under piles of newspapers, school papers, catalogs, and random teenagers who wander in off the street and drop crumbs everywhere. The floor will be awash in Fisher Price Little People involved in a series of complex tactical manuevers designed to take out the Weebles entrenched under the couch. Penicillin resistant molds and fungi will elect democratic leaders in the fridge, and someone sometime will have wiped the kitchen counters with a jelly-encrusted dishcloth, and there will be a small child stuck to the countertop, whimpering.

I haven't the nerve to tackle all that.

I don't know where it all comes from! No matter how carefully I guard the doors, how thoroughly I go through the mail and discard every piece that's not a matter of life and death, how many dishwasher loads I run, eventually I have to sleep. And when I'm asleep, it happens. I awaken to a blast site. What's scary is it happens even when I'm the only one home, which means my suspicions are correct and my son has Pygmies living in his room that come out when the house is quiet, although how they can breathe in there is anybody's guess. Burglars could ransack the joint and I'd never know. It would probably be an improvement.

There's another reason I don't like to clean. When I clean, I often come across items that are important. I think to myself, "Self, go put this up so you know where it is." So I do. And then I never see it again. Apparently, "up where I know where it is" has a wormhole in the bottom of it, and all my important items are floating around in outer space with all my mismatched socks. At least when my house is messy, things are out, where I can see them.

Oh, well. I suppose tomorrow I'm just going to have to suck it up and do it. Hooray. Nothing like giving the family a clean canvas upon which to strew trash and detritus. I'm drawing the line at baking cookies, though. Ain't gonna do it. I'll buy some, but I'm not baking.