I am not now, not have I ever been a cleaner. Some people might try to explain this by using words like “lazy” or “slob”, and those people might have a point, but they can go make it to someone else because I have no interest in listening to it. The truth is that while a have a mean streak of anal-retentiveness running through me, it somehow gives a wide berth to orderliness in my living spaces. As long as I know where what I need is, I don’t really care is that coincides with where it should be.
I like to call my décor tornado chic. A condensation of 4 years of undergraduate work mingles with notes from a semester of graduate classes, forming a makeshift blotter on what I imagine must be my desk, though I have no visual conformation of this. Books, be they for school, early review (some of which may be a touch delinquent) or of no particular purpose form a fairly accurate small scale representation of the Diaspora, in which my bookcase stars as Israel. And cds, probably the worst offender, are in piles, of which only I could determine the unifying factors, on every flat surface. Are all the neat folks twitching yet? Good.
Yesterday though, I don’t know if it was the warm weather all weekend or some kind of demonic possession, but I needed to clean and I needed clean now. One giant garbage bag, some creative organizational systems and the discovery that it was actually a desk under there later I stopped. Not because it was clean, because I assure you it’s not, but I was out of Cloud Cult to clean to and it was time to make dinner. And then it was time to meet a friend for coffee, because it was the conversion of a happily avoided line dancing commitment (scout’s honor). And then it was 3 am.
…I am hoping today I will once again be struck by the muse Swiffer, but I’m not holding my breath.