I had to do a lot of cleaning earlier. We had some eventful weeks lately and a lot of the normal clean up didn’t happen. Also the cat is losing her winter fur and I had to get the backyard ready for summer, meaning out with the old and broken toys, in with the new ones and then clean the whole space.
Now, if you know me just a little, you know that I hate cleaning. I consider it just such an unrewarding exercise. You clean, it looks good for a second and then it is dirty again. Cleaning is futile. Entropy will win forever and the time wasted cleaning will never come back.
When I write a story, it will stay there (the computer saving gods willing). I can get back to it. I can add to it. It is a tangible monument to my work. When I clean not so much. I am also convinced that the act of cleaning itself kills brain cells, because it is so boring to me that I veg out and just think hateful and destructive thoughts.
I hate cleaning, pure and simple.
Considering the fact that I also don’t like to cook, I really do suck at my job as a stay at home mom. Well, at least my family likes me and I can still be half way creative after I’m done swinging that vacuum.