i consider myself a fairly tidy person, but i really dislike cleaning. dont get me wrong, i dont mind "straightening up," but im not a huge fan of putting elbow grease behind the effort, probably because i like the instant gratification of an organized stack of papers much more than a desk top that looks the same both before and after I wiped it off with an orphan sock. needless to say that while my living spaces may appear "tidy," in reality they are pretty dirty. filthy actually. case in point, this morning became "dead of winter cleaning day." i began this endeavor really gung-ho about the whole thing, but as i found myself crouching in bathtub getting high on the bleachy fumes, the enthusiasm started to fade. there is something about scrubbing, sweeping, and vacuuming that make me feel like a martyr. i equate this sentiment to what i have named "cinderella syndrome"---that cleaning is something you do because an evil stepmother demands it of you and you cannot escape the task until you finally become a princess and never have to do it again. think about it: in many a disney fairytale there is some tragic maid that is forced to spend her days scrubbing or fetching well water until she is swept off her feet to her better, choreless life. at least these chicks have the luxury of singing while they toil away (and of course the help of their trusty animal friends), whereas i couldnt even do that since my roommates were still sleeping (not to mention there is a shortage of sheet-folding canaries here in indy---although i am fairly certain that there is a mouse somewhere under the kitchen sink...)
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