Pigsty

You know those times when your home/apartment/bedroom is a complete mess and you keep moving piles around to supposedly "clean" and by the time you finish while you know it is technically clean the living space doesn't actually look any tidier than before? 

I wish that were the case at our place right now.  Instead, our front bathroom is a disgusting mess because we have been tramping in there with dusty, paint-covered flip-flops to wash paint-caked brushes in a sink that is probably 12"x12".  Meanwhile, my gym clothes are strewn all over the bathroom floor because for some reason I always forget to stick those in the hamper, the bathtub has a filmy ring around it from the dirty dishwater that coats it every time I do a batch of dishes in Clara's plastic baby tub and then empty the grey water down the drain, and the mirrors give hazy reflections because they haven't seen Windex in weeks and have a fine layer of dry-wall dust that has collected on even the vertical surfaces. 

Yuck. 

Then there is a pile of laundry to be folded on the floor of the guest bedroom, empty paint cans strewn around the living room and kitchen since we were too tired to throw them out after we finished painting at midnight last night, toys scattered all over Clara's room, framed photographs leaning against every wall in the master bedroom where we are storing them while the remodel has been going on, at least two loads of torn-up linoleum, plywood and flooring waiting to be taken to the dump sitting out on our back patio, crusty bibs and high chair tray sitting on the table that didn't get wiped off yesterday because it was more important to take Clara outside to run around on the lawn before Paul got home from work and I plumb ignored it once Paul was home so I could run to Home Depot for more paint, etc. 

Our house feels like that scene in "Star Wars" where Han, Luke, Leia and Chewy (is Chewy in that scene?) are stuck in the garbage incinerator and the walls start pressing in on them bit by bit until they know they are going to be crushed.  Thankfully, it is not yet so bad that I can't quite compare us to any of the mental cases on the "Hoarders" show. 

And yet, even though everything is a mess, I sit here blogging about it while Clara sleeps instead of doing something about it.  Because my tolerance for filthiness is apparently more well-developed than I had previously realized, at least for what I know are limited periods of time. 

But seriously, I'm going to go clean the bathroom right now.