Hurricane Half-Ass
◊ In a fit of Queer Eye-inspired neatness frenzy, I am blazing through the house and yard, trying to remove clutter. (Except when I'm slacking online. Um, I mean, except when I am taking a break from the valiant struggle against the things taking over my life to go online.)
Last night saw me sleepily pushing a broom around the bedroom while Dean kept saying "Aren't you tired?" and I kept saying "Yeah" and kept sweeping because I couldn't explain how, tired as I was, if there was even one scared, scrawny, malnourished dustbunny on the hardwood floor of the bedroom, I would not be able to sleep. If I let it live it would climb up the bed, scratching and scraping its way up the bed skirt with its tiny grit claws, and it would point one thin spider-leg finger at me and laugh and laugh and LAUGH and then I wouldn't get any sleep at all again, ever.
In other words, I've got spring cleaning fever, and I'm beginning to hallucinate.
I've pulled up all the weeds in the yard and left them in messy heaps all over the cement. I've piled up the stray books I'm reading and left them in wobbling stacks next to bookshelves. There are lawn chairs all over the yard and fistfuls of wood screws on every flat surface from when I decided to hang a stop sign and yield sign on my bedroom wall and a backing for my dart board on the outside of the house earlier today. There are boxes full of clothes I'm finally getting rid of and stuff of Dan's that was mixed in with my stuff when I moved and the boxes are in tall towers that block the path through the bedroom.
It's going to take longer to clean up after my cleaning binge than it did to clean in the first place.
(I'd like to thank Dean for trying to bring me back to reality by cleverly leaving his shorts and T-shirt and possibly even a pair of dirty socks on the floor next to the bed in order to shock me out of my clean freakiness. Too bad it didn't work.)