Every once in a while, I get a bug up my ass to clean the lair. I'm not an atrocious slob - there aren't any flies involved, for instance - but I'm a single guy who's rarely home, so it's not like my place sees the business end of a feather duster on a regular.
But the times I'd cleaned before have been, again, the single guy version. This past weekend, I decided to really lean into it, get for reals, yo. I'm talking about scrubbing every inch of the bathroom, getting under the sink, wiping down the cabinets, taking down the blinds, attacking the stove until it looks new, everything.
And, after two days, I'm only about a third done.
I made a couple of interesting discoveries along the way:
a) No spiders. I'd prepared myself to run across Shelob somewhere in the lair's nooks and crannies. But I didn't find anything... no big 'uns, no spindlies, nothing. Seeing as I used to get black widows, I can't say I'm disappointed to hit a goose egg in the arachnid department.
b) Willie's hide-out. When I had a mouse (mice?), I often saw him (them?) when he dashed from behind my pantry to behind my stove. Now I know why. While attacking the oven, I opened the broiler for the first time since I'd moved in. Let's just say... if I could sell mouse turds for a buck a piece, I'd be at the Harley-Davidson dealership right now.
Not to get all California for a second, but in a sense, I feel as if I were scrubbing away old karma. By removing the layer of mung to which I'd grown accustomed, it's like I've moved into a new apartment. It's all preparation for the next step.
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