House of Pain Cleaning

I have been majorly slacking off in the housework/running errands department, since the snow melted and The Pub patio opened many moons ago. At times throughout the summer, I felt twangs of guilt over being so damned lazy, but they never lasted long, and were nothing that a beer or two couldn't cure. So on Friday, I sat down and made a long list of only a handfull of things I need to get done asap. I occasionally glanced at the list throughout the weekend, and whenever it looked back, I left the house.

However, this morning, I decided that today was the day to get things done. I have a day of sleeping in, and then drinking planned for tomorrow, and then it's back to work, so today had to be the day.

I was on a roll for awhile there. I washed the dishes, but let them air dry. I washed my bedding, because it smelled of sex and popcorn. I threw out basically everything in the fridge freezer, because it had been here since before I moved in.

I sat down to make phone calls, important calls that I should have made months ago, and then decided I didn't feel like socializing with the Honda dealership, my doctor, or the passport office. I rationalized that my phone was on the fritz, and with my luck, it would do its normal "crackle-fizz-screech" right in the middle of one of these important conversations anyways,and I would have to hang up, so I best call them once I purchase a new phone.

Once I stopped, the laziness took over faster than the speed of light.

I decided that cleaning the yard and the garage were chores much more suited to a Sunday afternoon, with a case of beer and some friends.

I don't have the money to get my four hundred photos developed that I took over the summer, so that'll have to wait too.

I will take the bottles to Sarcan and the bottle depot when I am really hard up for beer and gas money. If I took them in now, I'd be kicking myself later.

I stopped to check my Facebook messages, and learned that beers may be in order later, for us who don't get weekends. I decided that I needed to earn my pub time, if I chose to have it, and braced myself to clean the fridge. If I was going to put off everything else on the list, I figured I better complete the one thing on the list that was circled and surrounded by big stars and exclamation points.

Approximatly four seconds after I started this brutal task, I immediatly regretted it. I was disgusted with myself, and told myself so. After throwing out everything that was expired, indistinguishable, or older than time, the V-Man and I were left with many bottles of soya sauce, salad dressings,3 containers of margerine, a few other random condiments and dips, some tortilla shells and about 6 eggs.

Once all the expired food and whatnot was disposed of, I could see the real mess. Spilled soda pop, stray carrots, and mold. Yes, mold. We like to live dangerously here at the House of Pain. I thought of just taking the fridge out to the dumpster and leaving it there. I puked in my mouth a little bit. I thought of all the things that may have been near the mold, that I was so brazenly eating all this time. But I traversed on. I could do it. I could clean this. I'm big and tough, and I had faith in myself.

I bleached the shit out of the fridge. I scrubbed and scrubbed and made it look as good as new. And then I went to the bathroom and vomitted my face off. I wasn't as tough as I thought I was. But I had won. The grease and grime and mold had lost this battle, and I was victorious.

I had a cup of coffee, and looked at the list again. All of a sudden, none of it seemed all that important. My battle with the refridgerator was all I could handle for today. It took every bit of motivation out of me.

I am going to have a bath, put the clean bedding on my bed, and take a nap. All those other chores will just have to wait until the trauma from today has passed.