As I sit here preparing to write this, I'm realizing that I haven't vacuumed my apartment in awhile. Like, not long enough for my vacuum to be covered in dust or anything, but definitely long enough that it took me a solid minute to remember just when exactly the last time I ran it was.
So I'm just going to go ahead and add that to my list of chores that's somehow already two pages double-sided.
I would constantly find myself cleaning up after them — scrubbing their food-caked dishes in the sink, wiping tooth paste stains off the bathroom mirror, and even hanging up their coats that they would toss on the floor in front of the closet.
Basically, I was their mom, and I hated it.
Except here's the thing: I didn't. And oops, neither did my boyfriend.
So with two of us never really feeling like picking up a broom, guess what happens? The broom doesn't get picked up.
Usually I carve out one day a week to really get at those messes I've ignored for the last six days, which can be therapeutic. After all, there's nothing more satisfying than seeing everything return to its fresh-smelling, perfectly cleaned state.
Honestly, I've gotten to a point where I've accepted that unless I quit my job and spend all day, every day devoted to scrubbing this place down, it'll never be 100% spotless all the time.
But is it too much to ask that it at least be like, 65% spotless? I would love not to have to panic-clean every time someone decides to surprise me with a "super fun" impromptu visit.
