I don't know about the rest of you, but it almost takes an act of congress or God to get me to clean. I started out by grabbing some grocery bags and just walking around throwing the clutter into them. I set them out in the front room and then started moving furniture, my guitars, and all the other crap strewn about the living room out to that room. I scrubbed the carpet of any and all "accidents" that Charo (the vet says Chongo is a girl so I call her Charo now) had left in various spots. Next came the shower stall. That damn thing was sporting wildlife of it's own. I could probably grow an herb garden just on what was stuck between the tiles. I used the scrub free spray crap and went to work on the toilet while I was waiting for it to disolve the lime and mildew buildup. After awhile the fumes overcame me and I began hearing voices. Just kidding! Actually the building's elevator shaft is on the other side of my bathroom wall. Back in the 1940's my apartment was a beauty salon. I scrubbed and mopped the floor next, and finally gained a foothold on the dirt. As usual, I played music to accompany my work. I started off with "Mr Lucky" by John Lee Hooker, then played a CD of Frank Zappa's greatest hits, and followed up with Kelley Deal's solo CD "Welcome to the Sugar Altar." The shower stall still needs some work so next time I am going in with Comet and a toothbrush. I will begin the assault with "Iggy and the Stooges Live at the Michegan Palace," because it takes heavy-duty music to fight heavy-duty buildup. I just hope I don't have to break out my Day Glow Abortions before I am done.
All in all, I have this dread of cleaning and I do not know where it comes from. Can anyone else relate to this? I guess it stems from the fact that we were not allowed to do housework of any kind while on our earlier phases, then after 4th and 5th phase most of our parents stuck us with all of the housework all at once. I actually got a part time job to get the hell away from the house. I would clean it, then my step brothers would turn right around and mess stuff up. I got so sick of my efforts ending up a pile of shit that I simply refused to do anything. Finally, it was decreed that all I was in charge of was the kitchen, dishes, and dining room. Asshole had to take care of the living room, which meant he just threw everything behind the couch or in the stereo cabinet. He piled so much shit in it one time that it fell over during an episode of "Hill Street Blues" that was funny as all hell, because my dad got in on that one. He had worked a rotating shift as long as I can remember, and my step-brothers were able to pull a lot of shit over on him simply because he was not around that much. Oh well that is about all I can think of. You can wake up now.
