Now that I am only working half time, and most of that from home, you would imagine that I have plenty of time to take care of all those little household tasks that require attention. Well, imagine again. It would not be unreasonable to think that given the amount of free time on my hands, I should be living in a home that resembles the model unit at a new residential development. Once again, you’d be wrong to think that. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I don’t live in a dumpster, but for some reason, my living space is less than immaculate.
“Why is this?” I hear you ask. Well, actually, I don’t because not only don’t you read this blog, but my hearing is pretty much fucked, but I’m going to answer anyway. But first, let me say that I understand why so many single guys live like Neanderthals. Buying furniture, bedding, curtains, etc. is a harrowing ordeal. Going to Bed, Bath and Beyond is a nightmare that no single man should ever have to endure. The contact high from the Oestrogen pushes me two cup sizes higher. And that’s just in the walk from the car to the entrance.
Still, my travails in setting up a livable environment are well documented and need no repetition, so fast forward to the present. My Living Room is small, but serves the purpose and I try to avoid eating on the Futon as much as possible – late night snacking whilst watching a film and drinking excepted- but still, there seems to be a permanent debris field of crumbs and random food particles on the rug no matter how careful I try to be. However, I have very little motivation in breaking out the stick vac. and clean up, partly because I know that in a couple of days the mess will return. Inevitably I will stand barefoot on some particularly sharp shard and will admit defeat by plugging in the vacuum.
I think part of the problem is that I have no separate kitchen, just a slightly larger than usual galley kitchen separated from the living room by the strip that covers the border between the carpet tiles and the lino, hence crumbs and general detritus have no significant barrier to migration. Actually, if I didn’t know better, I’d think that someone was breaking into the house at night and deliberately scattering crumbs on my floor. Intermittently I will do a proper clean of the house, removing everything from the kitchen counter and giving every hard surface a deep cleaning.
Until the 4th of July weekend I had deliberately avoided dealing with my son’s bedroom. I used to give each of the kids $5 for helping out around the house, which included keeping their rooms within accepted Western standards of hygiene, but as the cash has dried up, this went the way of all flesh. They still make their beds, and my son did gather up a lot of garbage, but the real horror lurked beneath his bed. He has a habit of eating whilst lying on his bed, and the fallout goes everywhere. A few months back I moved the bed away from the wall to find the top of the skirting board with crumbs so old they required carbon dating.
As Independence Day is not really my thing, I steeled my nerves, girded my loins and tidied the back room. Oh, and as my people gave you July 4 as a holiday, you’re welcome. Back in the day, the area beneath a teenage boy’s bed was the favourite hiding place for all manner of one handed reading, but at least the invention of the iPad and laptop have removed this horror from parent’s lives, so at least I can be thankful for that. It required the use of several wet paper towels to remove the mess, and I almost filled the dust container of the vacuum with assorted matter from the carpet, but at least I didn’t have to dispose of any questionable publications with their pages stuck together.
My daughter uses my room when with me, so I had less to deal with, although the pile of riding magazines on her desk almost required crampons and a belaying line to surmount. She’s a talented artist who seems to regard the surface of her desk as a blank canvas, so it took a gag – inducing amount of 409 to return the worktop to its original white. It didn’t occur to me until much later that I could have removed the top and sold it as a recently discovered Jackson Pollock original. Damn. That would have solved my financial problems.
Ah well, lesson learned. I reckon I should put more effort into cleaning up the place and removing as much clutter and extraneous matter as possible. Despite downsizing as much as possible ( see “The Boxer and “Space Oddity”), I have acquired a lot of crap I don’t really need. A result of the OCD and pack rat mentality, I suppose. At least if I do, it will mean less stuff to deal with when I’m homeless.