Our House

Yes, cleaning is an on-going process, and moments of total cleanliness are fleeting. It seems, though, that we have monkeys living in the basement that lay in wait until we fall asleep. In the middle of the night, they creep upstairs and put clumps of assorted pet hair in the corners of the floor, piles of snot rags and empty cigarette packs on the end tables, hair in the bathtubs- they trash the place!

I love a clean house. I actually don’t mind the cleaning part. I find it, um, cleansing. Putting things in order, vacuuming, mopping, scrubbing and dusting. The house smells so good afterwards, and everything is where it should be, and nothing is where it shouldn’t be.

For about two seconds.

By the end of the night, the lemony-bleachy smell has faded and the monkeys are downstairs rubbing their hands together, shaking in delight at the prospect of a perfectly clean home to destroy. Resistance is futile. I think their true motive is to get me to play their game. They want vigilance- they want me to spend my nights and weekends beating back their handiwork, my life dedicated to trying, in vain, to stay one step ahead of the monkeys.

I refuse to take the bait. I will not play your monkey games! I will ignore your pet hair tumbleweed, as it crosses the living room in front of me. I am invincible from the dust you paint on all of my surfaces! I scoff at your overflowing trash can! Go on, little monkeys, play your games!

I’ll be putting my energy where I can gain some ground- my houseplants.

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