The Task at Hand

It's been more than a month since I deep cleaned my apartment, and it's not pretty. I've got a big weekend ahead, and I will have a guest, so I pretty much have to clean like a mad woman today.

I waited until the very last moment to get it done, of course. That's what I do. I procrastinate.

There's always time to clean, right? I can always do it later, you know, after I get my daily dose of hours wasted online and whatnot. I have my priorities in order people.

I have to fold six loads of laundry, because the customary love seat laundry rotation has actually become an eyesore.

I need to mop the bathrooms and kitchen. I have to swiffer my shelves and pictures, and eradicate numerous dust bunnies from the dark corners of my abode. Someone fetch me my allergy pills.

I must wash sheets. I also have to make my sons beds; which incidentally haven't been made since the last time they slept in them... more than a week ago. I should have had my boys clean their own rooms too!

I'm determined to hang up all the clothes that are laying in a pile on my bedroom floor this time. I won't throw them on my closet floor and shut the door, I pinky swear. I have to pinky swear, because my other fingers are crossed.

Let's face it, I'm lazy and hate dealing with clothes. Sure, I love to buy them and wear them. I even enjoy washing them, in fact I look forward to bleaching my whites. I love stain removers. I'm ever so choosy about my soaps, and the dryer always gets three sheets of Bounce. It's the folding, and hanging, and putting away that I struggle with. And by 'struggle with' I mean refuse to do. Yes, I know I'm a 32 year old woman, and yes I know it's pathetic. I even know that my mother is ashamed, yet I still struggle with the latter part of laundry.

Panic and running short on time makes for adequate motivation though, and an even greater sense of accomplishment once it's done. I have that to look forward to, if nothing else.