What is the sound of a broken spirit?
When I was younger, our family owned horses. Occasionally, my dad would breed our horses, and for a while, we'd have ponies. My dad would keep some, and he would sell some. The ones he kept, he would have to break so they'd be rideable. I remember watching my dad breaking the horses, and it was such a sad process. I remember hurting for the horses, yet knowing it was a necessity if we were ever going to be able to ride.
In this same way, the Oakridge house has broken me. When I first moved in, I was so industrious when it came to cleaning the house. I'd try to get to it once a week, and at least every other week if I missed one week. I stood strong, and refused to let the messiness of other roommates bring me down.
It has now been almost three years since I first moved in. Each passing day, month, and year, has served to kill my cleaning spirit, to make me docile about the state of the house. Like the horses on the end of the lead, I just ran around in fruitless, futile circles. If I acted up by cleaning, I would be whipped back down to submission.
Just like most horses are meant to be ridden, I have discovered the Oakridge house is just meant to be dirty. It's a losing battle. The other roommates have known this. The cats know this (Bella's butt-scraping? The means to an end). Even the ants know this, which is why our house has always been such a target. And me? I have just accepted it.
My spirit has been broken. I would have a huge bonfire, and burn all the cleaning supplies...but the chemicals might cause Deanna to get a headache.
In this same way, the Oakridge house has broken me. When I first moved in, I was so industrious when it came to cleaning the house. I'd try to get to it once a week, and at least every other week if I missed one week. I stood strong, and refused to let the messiness of other roommates bring me down.
It has now been almost three years since I first moved in. Each passing day, month, and year, has served to kill my cleaning spirit, to make me docile about the state of the house. Like the horses on the end of the lead, I just ran around in fruitless, futile circles. If I acted up by cleaning, I would be whipped back down to submission.
Just like most horses are meant to be ridden, I have discovered the Oakridge house is just meant to be dirty. It's a losing battle. The other roommates have known this. The cats know this (Bella's butt-scraping? The means to an end). Even the ants know this, which is why our house has always been such a target. And me? I have just accepted it.
My spirit has been broken. I would have a huge bonfire, and burn all the cleaning supplies...but the chemicals might cause Deanna to get a headache.
posted by sasha at 2:27 PM
4 Comments:
Egads. This is why I am happy I live by myself. Sure it sucks having to do it all myself, but I am not having to clean up after other messy people. That would definitely be worse.
I can understand your frustration, I am almost O/C about stuff like that. I can take it in small doses. Only thing I think you can do is kind of let it go. Otherwise you will be playing mommy the whole time and that's not fair to you.
The ants thing ... now Deanna just needs to get over that aversion to chemicals. That is ridiculous that her weirdness is causing everyone else to have to deal with that problem.
That's so awesome. I was ready to be all serious. But I know exactly what you mean. I suppose we can keep it just clean enough that no one calls the health department, and then maybe do ACTUAL cleaning when we have a get-together of some kind. But you're right, only so much one person can do (even two or three). I guess Bella is just telling it like it is. Can't really blame her. Her butt is probably cleaner than a lot of places in the house (I think of a particular upstairs room.) And if we have freaking RATS in the garage, well, tenements have rats. We live in a 5 bedroom tenement. I'd use the finger in the dike analogy, but you can't really talk about putting fingers in dikes anymore without people getting offended. And who knows? We might even make a slob out of you eventually. Could be worse, though. At least it doesn't usually STINK. There's the cat box, but you can forgive the gatos for that. I guess we just have to be accepting and love the house as it is...
When it gets to the point where the cats can't tell the litter box from the rest of the house, I think you have a problem.
Bella's antics are just the tip of the iceberg, my friend.
good grief!
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