when staying at home seems like the only option. walked into our apartment late this afternoon and it was so clean that i just want it to stay that way. cyn and i tend to get cluttery living together, and me living in her office... the coffee table serves as her desk and my desk and our dining table and ottoman all in one. our actual dining table serves as a file cabinet and a laundry-folding center. our dining chairs hold whatever bags we choose to carry for the week and drying laundry. add to this one 80-pound rottweiler with more fur than a barrel of sea otters and an unfortunate inability to retain bodily fluids... and you get the picture. twice a week ayi comes in and blazes a brave trail through our filth. sometimes i wonder if she opens the door and wants to throw up her arms and run out. or beat us senseless with our half-broken broom.
at home, in my apartment, this would never fly. i'm so anal normally that i will happily spend a saturday afternoon re-arranging my kitchen cabinets or ordering my books and cds alphabetically. my sister once complained that she could never find anything in the kitchen when we were roommates because i kept changing the organization. i wash my flip flops after i wear them with tide and a scrub brush. i arrange everything on my nightstand so that they have linear relation with the other objects. and yet, i have no problems with having to clear a place to set my feet on our coffee table, or when i walk through one of kodi's puddles on the floor. either i am learning to be less anal (unlikely), or all of this is ok because mentally it all feels so temporary, so i don't have the urge to terrorize my roommate with a martha stewart-esque iron fist. either way, the folks at home would be shocked.
1 comment:
...and horribly dismayed. all dirty. and probably stinky, too.
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