Just call me...

...Mr Housekeeper!

I've finished the kitchen and dining area so far. This was major scrubbage: after doing all the upper kitchen surfaces, I moved the fridge and cleaned the floor under it, then scrubbed the rest of the floor, which involved carting the dining table and chairs into the living room, rolling up the rug and scrubbing the floor under it. Everything's back in place now, clean and (where appropriate) shiny. My knees hurt.

Tomorrow: blinds, windows, and the big mess: shampooing the carpet in living room, bedroom and office. The cat is already unhappy and suspicious.

Funny thing: so am I.

I hate doing this stuff. I've always done it, whether I lived alone or not. But it's necessary, especially here where plenty of filth comes in through the windows. You wouldn't think that'd be so living right next to the ocean but, thanks to the nearby port facilities, there's diesel soot and heaven-knows-what-else floating around out there, and plenty of it lands in here.

I guess I'm paying for being one of those people who can't stand having the windows closed....

Probably the worst part of the whole thing is that it is mindless labor, which allows me to think. These days, my thoughts tend to move in dark channels, and cleaning tile doesn't do much to change that.

Art Bell is on, and his program is a taped repeat. The cat has just emerged from whatever hiding place he was in while I was vacuuming, and is hungry.

I need sleep. And I fully expect to wake up tomorrow morning aching. Muscles as well as the usual heartaches....

But I'll have a clean apartment. For a while, anyway.