Fighting a losing battle...

I hate housework.

You already know how much I hate doing laundry. But I hate all housework. All of it. And my apartment is a dust magnet. I live on a busy corner, I have lots of windows that don't seal properly (the building is nearly 100 years old, after all), and hardwood floors. So there's always a light sheen of dust in here...though more often, it's much more than a light sheen. There are dust bunnies so large I could name them and tell people they're my pets.

Last week, I did a major housecleaning. I got rid of the giant piles of crap that were overflowing on my dining room table (why do my 401K plan and my HMO send me so much shit? that i should file? or at least, destroy in such a manner so as to prevent identity theft??? aren't we supposed to be a more paperless society??), I took a bunch of old computer equipment that was cluttering up my dining room to a recycler, and I even moved some furniture so I could clear the thick layers of dust underneath. I was so proud. And the apartment looks really great. It almost looks like a grown-up lives here (though there ain't no grown-up here...as you well know.).

But here's the thing: now I'm doomed to constantly clean. I'm so frigging neurotic, I don't want to put ANYTHING on my dining room table now, not even for a day. And when I start to see the dust gather, it really, really bugs me. And there's no winning the battle with the dust. I could dust every day, and more would gather within a matter of minutes. I need to become more Zen about the dust. Dust is inevitable.

Just wait until I get to the closets. Then I'll really be in trouble with the neurosis. More than I was before I started to clean this place up.