My house is a mess. Not a wholly, needs-to-be-demolished-unfit-to-live-in type of mess, but more of an I-don’t-know-why-I-can’t-just-put-something-back-where-it-belongs kind of mess. I do this all the time. Set something down and tell myself I’ll put it back where it goes in a minute. Then later. Then tomorrow. Then on the weekend. Then I watch as each of these timeframes slips away and things pile higher and higher until I start to hyperventilate and my inner clean freak threatens to spaz out and throw itself prostrate at my feet until I do something about the mess.
I’m almost at the inner spaz out stage now. It isn’t that I don’t want to clean the house, it’s just that the time simply gets away from me, and there is always something else I’d rather be doing because clean freak I may be, but domesticated diva I am not. I could do the dishes, or I could read a book. I could vacuum, or I could zip out to Chapters. I could scrub the toilets, or I could go shopping. There’s always something more fun to do, somewhere else my time is needed that is far more intriguing than breaking out the Comet and Fantastik and going to town. Something that ranks higher than restocking the wood pile, pooper scooping the back yard, dusting the furniture, cooking dinner.
I keep telling myself after each thorough cleaning that I’m going to get a better handle on this. That this time, now that it’s clean, I’m going to keep it that way. And each time I mean it. Then the next thing I know, I turn around and the piles are back, the dishes are stacked in the sink, the counter has a colony of crumbs littering its top, the floor is covered with dog hair, and I think--didn’t I just clean this? Where did the time go?
Sigh…I so need a maid. I need someone else who will cater to my clean freak tendencies so I don’t have to feel like such a failure every time I fall short at it once again despite all my best intentions. I don’t want to have to keep bolting past my living room so I won’t see the pile of writing paper and research books that have taken over the coffee table. Or incline my head a certain way so I can ignore the mail and magazines now decorating the kitchen table I never eat at because there's never any room on it.
I know people that have a cleaning lady who comes in once a week and I swear once I have the cash to spare, I will be getting me one of those.