That's what it seems to me.
I had half a week to do something great while home alone, and I chose to do some redecorating, with the help of my friend Dardar, a superfudgingawesome interior designer.
And with the front room's new found coziness and functionality, I decided to clean the entire place, save for the balcony, which is still covered by a gross blanket of desert dust.
But the rest of the apartment? Spotless.
I dusted the shelves and cupboards and tables and wiped the sinks and counter to a shiny kind of clean.
I picked my hairballs off the muddy floor before sweeping and mopping it until it was a gleaming light beige color again.
I had to tiptoe around the house to admire my work without ruining it.
And then I put away all the washed dishes, washed some clothes.
Folded some shirts.
Organized my closet by buying a hanging shoe pockets and a bunch of bleached teeth-white hangers.
Gave the mirrors a good wipe.
Cleaned the toilet, the tub, the door handles, the soap dishes.
Got rid of rotting stuff in the fridge.
Slapped the throw pillows to a perfect fluff.
Watered the plants.
Took out the garbage.
Cleaned the garbage bin.
Everyday for three straight days I would go crazy doing a couple of chores, and before I knew it, it was half past three in the morning.
Cleaning the place and seeing to it that it remained clean drove me nuts.
I ate like a member of the royal family. I carefully sipped my tea and put whole spoonfuls of food in my mouth to avoid any spillage.
It was driving me nuts and it had to stop!!!
When LBT arrives tonight, I will stop. And I'm guessing it'll take quite a while before I go on a psycho scrubbin' and sweepin' and huffin' and puffin' spree again.
I had half a week to do something great while home alone, and I chose to do some redecorating, with the help of my friend Dardar, a superfudgingawesome interior designer.
And with the front room's new found coziness and functionality, I decided to clean the entire place, save for the balcony, which is still covered by a gross blanket of desert dust.
But the rest of the apartment? Spotless.
I dusted the shelves and cupboards and tables and wiped the sinks and counter to a shiny kind of clean.
I picked my hairballs off the muddy floor before sweeping and mopping it until it was a gleaming light beige color again.
I had to tiptoe around the house to admire my work without ruining it.
And then I put away all the washed dishes, washed some clothes.
Folded some shirts.
Organized my closet by buying a hanging shoe pockets and a bunch of bleached teeth-white hangers.
Gave the mirrors a good wipe.
Cleaned the toilet, the tub, the door handles, the soap dishes.
Got rid of rotting stuff in the fridge.
Slapped the throw pillows to a perfect fluff.
Watered the plants.
Took out the garbage.
Cleaned the garbage bin.
Everyday for three straight days I would go crazy doing a couple of chores, and before I knew it, it was half past three in the morning.
Cleaning the place and seeing to it that it remained clean drove me nuts.
I ate like a member of the royal family. I carefully sipped my tea and put whole spoonfuls of food in my mouth to avoid any spillage.
It was driving me nuts and it had to stop!!!
When LBT arrives tonight, I will stop. And I'm guessing it'll take quite a while before I go on a psycho scrubbin' and sweepin' and huffin' and puffin' spree again.
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