|After I took this picture, the table bench got blue ink scribbled on it.|
For me, cleaning is like trying to translate the Rosetta Stone. I don't even know where to begin.
Do I tackle the most urgent task first? If that's the case, I haven't vacuumed in weeks, and the crumbs collected beneath the carpet beds have probably settled down by now and started families. But in order to vacuum thoroughly, I have to maneuver over the bits of paper, dirty socks, pens, toy cars, wrappers, diapers, magazine clippings, straws, bottles of hand sanitizer, board books, used towels, empty bottles, stuffed bunnies, and twigs that have taken up residence there. So why not go ahead and first clear the area?
Oh, but that opens a whole other riddle on the deciphering stone. Where do I put this stuff? How to organize? What is worth keeping, what's to throw away?
All right, then I need to get around to setting aside certain places, nooks, bookshelves, drawers, and other storage units so I can have a plan of where to put these things. I can't use that one. It's currently occupied by all the bills and mail I have yet to sort through. And this one has the may-be-clean, may-be-dirty, should-probably-just-donate-to-charity jumble of clothes I haven't fit in since I started the job that gave me access to a delicious variety of cheeses. Oh, dear. This might require a trip to Walmart for supplies Never mind that Walmart is the evil empire, it's convenient, darn it!
Now I'm in the Walmart trap, and suddenly all sorts of tasks and objects that had never occurred to me as being needed are swimming into my peripherals, and looking awfully tasty. Wouldn't life be easier if I had a little wall-mounted compartment to store all those plastic shopping bags rather than trash them (never mind that I have my own re-usable, environment friendly ones that I. Never. Remember.) And look! What a unique picture frame!
By the time I return home, I've got even more stuff to sort through, though, to be honest, I did desperately need to go grocery shopping. I open the refrigerator door to horror-film, science experiment scenery staring back at me. Now, instead of putting the milk and pickles away, I'm excavating for slimy, expired deli meat, greens that have fermented into liquid, and some mystery food covered in the mixing bowl I've been missing, covered in tin foil.
When I finally get my head out of the fridge, a glance at the clock tells me it's dinner, and I've yet to prepare anything. Clean pots? Of course not. Take one out of the sink and wash it so that I can use it, only to dirty it again. After dinner would probably be a good opportunity to diminish the mountain of soiled dishes, but y then, all I want to do is lie down and take a nap.
Meanwhile, while all of this shenanigans is taking place, a little house brownie was quite busy creating "order" as he sees fit. So in addition to the little bit I did accomplish, I've got a toddler underfoot undoing all of it elsewhere.
Oh well. There's always tomorrow.