Sometimes I feel like my life is consumed with the task of cleaning up after myself.
I was feeling all productive because I'd managed to put about half the dirty dishes in the sink to soak. Good day good day good day! My dish rack will only hold half those at a time; need to fix that. I have my eye on this totally cute and way too expensive one.
Anyway, I had figured out another laundry hamper solution to try, and now felt I could spend an hour or two in relaxed downtime when it happened. My hand connected with the glass of pomegranate juice in a less than lady-like fashion and over it went.
All onto my sheets.
All over my parents' carpet.
Uh oh.
Pomegranate juice stains.
It's like the time two days ago my bunny peed on me and I had to wash all that, too. Did i mention the washing machine is down an entire flight of stairs from me, and I have to haul the wet clothing UP the stairs in order to line dry them in the bathroom? There's a reason I only do laundry every few months. Then again, rabbit urine is pretty hard to argue with.
Did I mention the bathroom also happens to be my kitchen?
But the juice, right. Gotta do something about the juice right now. So my nervous system grudgingly amps up as I borrow tomorrow's strength for necessary chores. If it were my house? No carpet, and no flooring easily ruined. Leave messes until you have the strength. But I don't have that luxury when staying here. It was either that or wake one of my parents at 2am to help me. Which I've done before, but not now.
Attacking the carpet with a hot wet rag, I realize this is the same place my bag of salt spilled last week. I'd immediately scooped off from the top as much as I could salvage, but there was still a good shakerful or two that could have only been retrieved with a vacuum cleaner. Which I don't have. Only one around is my parents' giant machine, and I'm not hauling that thing up the stairs. I try to make a mental note to research hand vacuums, but I'm too amused by the notion that the salt has somewhat protected the carpet from the pomegranate juice.
With most of the carpet now cleaned up, I turn my attention towards my heating pad, salt shaker, and sheets, all permeated with the stuff. And decide to keep typing for now. It's my stuff. I can let it stain if I want to.
I try to remind myself, at times like these, that 2 years ago I was entirely incapable of cleaning up any of my own messes, and a year ago I would have only been able to handle occasional issues, certainly nothing immediately demanding attention. This is a good thing, I tell myself.
But sometimes I do sit for a moment and wish that the primary focus of my life wasn't meeting the basic lowest acceptable standard of cleanliness.
Never mind that. I got the carpet addressed, SCORE. I'll wipe down the heating pad, sleep on a dry area of the sheets and I don't know how juice actually got inside my salt shaker but I'll clean that out before my next meal or use the other one. I don't care. The good news? I'm not going to crash tomorrow. I won't be able to do much of anything else, but I'll be just fine.
My dishes, on the other hand...
I was feeling all productive because I'd managed to put about half the dirty dishes in the sink to soak. Good day good day good day! My dish rack will only hold half those at a time; need to fix that. I have my eye on this totally cute and way too expensive one.
Anyway, I had figured out another laundry hamper solution to try, and now felt I could spend an hour or two in relaxed downtime when it happened. My hand connected with the glass of pomegranate juice in a less than lady-like fashion and over it went.
All onto my sheets.
All over my parents' carpet.
Uh oh.
Pomegranate juice stains.
It's like the time two days ago my bunny peed on me and I had to wash all that, too. Did i mention the washing machine is down an entire flight of stairs from me, and I have to haul the wet clothing UP the stairs in order to line dry them in the bathroom? There's a reason I only do laundry every few months. Then again, rabbit urine is pretty hard to argue with.
Did I mention the bathroom also happens to be my kitchen?
But the juice, right. Gotta do something about the juice right now. So my nervous system grudgingly amps up as I borrow tomorrow's strength for necessary chores. If it were my house? No carpet, and no flooring easily ruined. Leave messes until you have the strength. But I don't have that luxury when staying here. It was either that or wake one of my parents at 2am to help me. Which I've done before, but not now.
Attacking the carpet with a hot wet rag, I realize this is the same place my bag of salt spilled last week. I'd immediately scooped off from the top as much as I could salvage, but there was still a good shakerful or two that could have only been retrieved with a vacuum cleaner. Which I don't have. Only one around is my parents' giant machine, and I'm not hauling that thing up the stairs. I try to make a mental note to research hand vacuums, but I'm too amused by the notion that the salt has somewhat protected the carpet from the pomegranate juice.
With most of the carpet now cleaned up, I turn my attention towards my heating pad, salt shaker, and sheets, all permeated with the stuff. And decide to keep typing for now. It's my stuff. I can let it stain if I want to.
I try to remind myself, at times like these, that 2 years ago I was entirely incapable of cleaning up any of my own messes, and a year ago I would have only been able to handle occasional issues, certainly nothing immediately demanding attention. This is a good thing, I tell myself.
But sometimes I do sit for a moment and wish that the primary focus of my life wasn't meeting the basic lowest acceptable standard of cleanliness.
Never mind that. I got the carpet addressed, SCORE. I'll wipe down the heating pad, sleep on a dry area of the sheets and I don't know how juice actually got inside my salt shaker but I'll clean that out before my next meal or use the other one. I don't care. The good news? I'm not going to crash tomorrow. I won't be able to do much of anything else, but I'll be just fine.
My dishes, on the other hand...
