OUT THERE: Cleaning Up
By Out There • Nov 2nd, 2008 • Category: Out ThereWritten by Erin Crawford Nov. 2, 2008
The last several months have found me in varying states of distress, duress, undress, acquiesce, digress, excess, express, confess, transgress and occasionally donning a headdress. It was all quite lesson learned-like. Now that the dust has settled (I gave someone the boot. Again), I am taking a good long look around at the literal dust that has settled. In my house. It seems I let some things fall by the wayside.
Before I went on Prozac, my house used to be Martha Stewart neat and organized. In addition to employing a slightly judgmental cleaning lady, I spent a considerable amount of time cleaning in preparation for cleaning lady day. Labels faced front, forks went with forks in the fork drawer, and I swiffered everything in sight. More than once a day. On top of my obsessive cleaning, I moved around my furniture. A lot. Once I went on the ‘zac, things seemed a little brighter and I was able to finally just be myself again. Turns out my self is rather sloth-like and sort of a hoarder. Just ask my college roommates.
I let the cleaning lady go, got a new boyfriend, and only resorted to cleaning for when I had parties at my house - which amounted to roughly four times this year. The last party was a four year old birthday so I didn’t even really clean, I just shoved shit in closets. Because I was starting school a couple of weeks after the birthday party, I figured I would just unshove the shit from my closets and clean up the joint. Well unshoving the shit from my closets led to disaster. Between Edie and me, almost every room in the house looked like the morning after at a stuffed animal fraternity house. I had a couple of babysitters who would be taking care of Edie in shifts and I didn’t want them to feel obliged to call the fashion social services on account that I had twenty pairs of boots lying on my kitchen floor.
In addition to the massive chaos reigning in my adobe, there was a quite a bit of emotional chaos reigning in my dating sphere. It turns out, once I washed that man right out of my hair I was able to wash my clothes and kitchen floor. My boots and Edie’s stuffed animals have been relocated to their proper venues and my dishwasher is no longer doubling as storage space. My domestic life is a far cry from what Martha would approve of, but progress has been made and order restored in my head, heart and soul. I even see harmony on the horizon. Who knew cleaning could be so lovely?
Out There is a column written by Erin Crawford, who wonders where "there" is, as far as dating is concerned. When not dispensing her unsolicited advice, she enjoys yoga, painting, and Zappos.com. She lives in Massachusetts with her brilliant child, Edie, and several woodland squatters.
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The photo looks almost exactly like my old apartment in Providence. I moved back from SF and barely unpacked for the whole year I lived off Wickenden St. Wood paneling and all. Huh.
It looks a little like my apartment now. I’m under construction. Just like you, I’m all about the remodeling of my abode. The only diff is my abode is one room. Much easier that way.
Do you ever think “I should just move” as a reaction to the chaos? I do. Moving would almost be easier than sorting through everything in a realtime way.
As someone who used to move every year, let me tell you… moving is SO much harder than hanging up your clothes.
I used to move all the time. I have been here for 4.5 years which is the longest I have been in one place since college. A whole lot of time to accumulate a whole bunch of stuffed animals.