in preparation for our first out of town house guests and visitors both this and last weekend i have been cleaning the apartment.

i know, i know. i’m a superhero.

but it seems that performing the customary task of clean-ing, vaccumm-ing, sweep-ing, tidy-ing are so much more difficult than they have been in recent memory.

have i become inept at this kind of housework? has my brain finally succumb to the incurable can’t-stand-to-dust-itis? (oh, please let the answer be yes. i HATE to clean. remind me to tell you sometime about the catastrophic internal struggle i go through each time i daydream about paying someone to clean my house. it’s a battle royale of ‘oh, aren’t we too good to clean our own house’ vs. ‘shut up. you’re giving a legitimate job to someone who wants/needs it’. all i can say for sure is that at the end of the fight, no one is ever going to have to wash my underwear. i’d say that it’s a healthy enough compromise.)

unfortunately, i think i still remember how to clean at this point. it’s just. well, it’s just that i don’t know where anything GOES.

most of our stuff has found a home in our new home. but not all of it. and the stuff that is waiting in piles to figure out where to land is just sitting there. waiting. to live. somewhere else. and the stuff won’t tell me where it belongs.

secretive bastards.

so i have been going from room to room moving piles from here, to there, and back again, just as moving and poetic as bilbo baggins himself. and yet the stuff is STILL not put away.

why?

I DON’T KNOW WHERE IT GOES.

that’s why.

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