It’s Monday, it’s semester break, and I’m super motivated for everything! I’m a right whirlwind of productivity! (Let’s see how long it’ll last.) So I thought, hey, why not make a new semi-regular (as in, probably not every week, maybe just once a month) in which I just reflect on
the state of the nation life and the things I do.
Also so I have an excuse to link to this song and play it over and over. Ah, where have all the mainstream success girl bands gone?
So as I said, it’s Monday, I have an abundance of free time, and what am I doing? Cleaning. That’s right. No lying in bed until noon, nuh-uh, I got up almost-early, had breakfast, dicked around the internet until it didn’t have new things anymore, and then I followed my cleaning plan. Yes, I have a chore plan, it’s on a whiteboard in the hall and every time I tell someone about this they look at me like I’ve grown another head. “But you’re in your mid-twenties!”, they wail, “Why would you have a chore plan?! You’re making the rest of us look bad!” Well, lovelies, because I like a clean flat (I also have an actual allergy to dust) and that flat don’t clean itself. I don’t like cleaning. Who the hell likes cleaning? I’m just a very domestic person. I like to spend most of my time at home. Why bother paying rent if you’re never staying in the damn place? That exorbitant rent needs to be dwelled off. (Yes, that’s a word now.)
I also have a weekly university-things-to-do-plan that tells me when to study for what, which assignments are due, and when to go to the library. No, I don’t have OCD, at least I don’t think I do, why do you ask?
Chore plan for today said dust, vacuum, wash towels. Ha!, I thought. I have so much free time I’ll raise you a clean kitchen! So I put on a trusted mix of Hawaiian meles and 80s jams and went to work. Dusting first. I always dust first, so if any dust falls on the floor I can vacuum that away later. Then vacuuming every least little corner. Then I thought, hm, those kitchen cabinets really need a scrub down, so I did. I even cleaned the crumbs out of the toaster, wiped the electric kettle and the microwave, and used some toothpicks to get the grime out from around the edge of the sink and the ceramic hob of the stove. (Yes, I have a fancy stove, are you jealous, good, I mean I use the thing every day, might as well be something nice. (And it’s going to last a good few years, my mother’s been in use over 15 years so far.))
I usually save cleaning the bathroom for Tuesday or the weekend, and I had just cleaned it, but I took the time to swiffer around behind the washing machine, because grody doesn’t even describe what was going on back there. That’s always fun and makes me look stupid, because I basically lie on my stomach on top of the thing and swivel around the cables with moderate success.
My flat is so clean I could have my mother visit. I don’t know about your folks, but having my parents over is like an inspection by the FBI. My mother was raised by German parents and you know what they say about German housewives; it’s a bit like boot camp with rubber gloves and abrasive cleansing materials. My mother led a less stringent regiment, but she was always and forever on my case about the state of my room (nostalgic groan) and now has the hardest time to not be forever on my case about my flat. She’s convinced her nagging is just her helping me. Ah, mothers.
So I got everything done in under two hours. But I’m not even done yet. No, once yesterday’s laundry is dry I still have towels to wash, and I also wanted to dye my hair and make a collage and look up gift ideas for my parents’ birthdays, and then there’s still Valentine’s Day to plan for (not my idea, Boyfriend insists we celebrate! But I get free food out of it, so it’s okay.) I’m so productive today I feel like I could run up and down the fucking walls!
Last week I started a personal logbook to keep track of all the things I get done. I always feel like I’m a lazy slob that gets absolutely nothing done in a day. So I now record the hours I studied, the chores I did and errands I ran, the time spent for work and sport, etc. Turns out I’m not as unproductive as I always think or others think I am. I mean, on Friday I went to work, then ran down to the drugstore and the pharmacy, cooked lunch, cleaned out the fridge, collected all the empty plastic bottles in the house for recycling, made a shopping list, bought groceries for the week, and went to work again. Yesterday I paid some bills, e-mailed my insurance company, made a new weekly schedule, swiffered the entire place, did laundry, did some ironing, and found a more than half an hour for Pilates. That’s not that bad, is it? I mean, I probably could have done more, but still. Maybe I am an adult after all. Look at me adulting all over the place!
And now I need to think of what to do with the defrosted chicken and get the rest of my list done. I love lists. Lists keep me sane. It’s just so satisfying to check off everything you do, because that means it’s really done. Forever. Or at least until next week.