A Waste of Time

This week, my hours at work were cut from the forty a week I'd been generously given to the twenty-five I'm supposed to have as a part time employee. There's good aspects to this, like having free time away from this job that I loathe so much. The downsides are that I've just lost a decent portion of income that I need to, you know, live on, and, even worse, I don't get to see Lucy nearly as much as I used to.

Faithful readers might be demanding to know, "So where the hell are all the posts?" It's true, even with the extra time and energy I now have, I haven't been writing here. What have I been doing instead? Cleaning, of all things.

For one who lives in near total isolation, cleaning is pretty much a waste of time. Indeed, in the three plus years I've lived in this apartment, I have not once done any thorough cleaning. Why not? Well, since no one ever visits, I don't have to keep the place in any kind of presentable state. And as long as I can tolerate the mess then it's no problem.

Sure I've cleaned before. I've done dishes, vacuumed, scrubbed the toilet, etc. but I have some dishes that have literally been around for months. I have cobwebs and shelves and ledges nearly black with dust. I'm still finding little mouse turds from the few unwelcome guests I've had over the years. (I've been meaning to clean enough to find the hole for ages now.)

So now that I have the time and energy and motivation (because I'm fed up with it), it's time to clean house.