The Madness

Two crumbs shine like beacons. Taunting me. I just swept. Does this mean I’m a bad housekeeper? I can’t even use a broom properly as evidenced by those damned crumbs.

Cleaning is a task that is never really complete. I dust a room and it comes back; dust comes from me. As long as I am, dust shall be. It’s literally comprised of dead flakes of human skin. I don’t mind as much if it’s just my own but mix in the office weirdo’s and now it’s gross.

But humans are gross. We spit as we talk. We scratch our nether regions. Toilets spray fecal matter into the air even if the lid is down unless you have one of those fancy ones that entirely encapsulates the seat. Some don’t even wash their hands after using the shit-ridden throne.

After I’ve cleaned up, I scan the room and proudly state that I should do this more often. Why should I only do this because visitors are coming? Why shouldn’t I enjoy a clean place more often? Why wait to put fresh sheets on the bed until I have a new lover? I can enjoy them alone just fine. It could be like pampering myself.

Then the sneezing begins and I remember. Cleaning stirs up the dust and pollen. My nose bleeds. And now I’m a sleepy, miserable grump.

Better stick to chocolate, cheesecake, massages, and bubble baths.

The bathroom is the worst place to clean. It’s a place destined for mold. One has to hug the toilet bowl to reach behind it to wash that small strip of floor. Dust clings to the clammy porcelain and smears in defiance as you attempt to extricate it from its chosen abode.

The kitchen stove is a mess. I swear the last owners never cleaned it. Out damned spot! No matter how much I scrub…  It’s hopeless.

Cleaning is madness. How anyone can enjoy it is beyond me. Don’t they have better things to do? Learn an instrument or a new language? Go on a date. Take up a sport. Read books. Ride a bike to someplace too far and have an adventure getting home. Sit around in your underwear playing Skyrim! Netflix-and-chill is always a good option too.

Don’t clean. Avoid the never-ending cycle of sanitary insanity.


Copyright © Raeanne G. Roy, 2016. All rights reserved.

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