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brin_bellway[probably cw: embarrassment squick]
Guess what my dad and I found while cleaning under the couches for the first time in (judging by the age of the detritus) four years?
A third-party-power-cord box *with a Dell-to-HP adapter inside*
we *fucking had one the whole time*
---
We're thinking that this year's cleaning schedule, in broad strokes, looks roughly like this:
Spring: dust, wipe down (where applicable: windows, stove, etc), and de-clutter the main two floors of the house so that we can invite an energy auditor in. (Also I'm hoping to be able to clean the main floors more often, which would be much easier if they were de-cluttered.)
Summer: dust and de-clutter the basement, with an eye towards making things like furnace and floor replacements easier (but also just to have it be less dirty and disorganised down there).
Autumn: inventory the attic, *maybe* getting rid of some stuff but no pressure (as a general rule, if it's in the attic, Mom has already refused to get rid of it once). I'm sure there's *some* useful or potentially-useful stuff buried in there, but as it stands we have little way of *knowing* about it. It would be much better if the boxes all had ID numbers and we had a spreadsheet listing each box and its contents.
(Of course we expect life in autumn to look very different from life in spring, so the schedule is subject to change, but that is, at least, the likely *ordering*.)
---
Most forms of cleanliness feel like absence-of-pain. It's unpleasant to *not* have them, but I don't really notice having them unless I take a moment to deliberately focus on them and reflect on how much worse things used to be.
Except, for some reason, vacuuming. I keep expecting having a freshly vacuumed floor to feel like absence-of-pain because why wouldn't it, but it's actually actively pleasing. Something in the vicinity of "relief" or "satisfaction".
...hmm, come to think of it, I think a clean stovetop and kitchen counter also have this effect to a lesser extent. Something about surfaces I interact with a lot, or maybe see a lot?
Should be useful for informing my cleaning priorities.
Guess what my dad and I found while cleaning under the couches for the first time in (judging by the age of the detritus) four years?
A third-party-power-cord box *with a Dell-to-HP adapter inside*
we *fucking had one the whole time*
---
We're thinking that this year's cleaning schedule, in broad strokes, looks roughly like this:
Spring: dust, wipe down (where applicable: windows, stove, etc), and de-clutter the main two floors of the house so that we can invite an energy auditor in. (Also I'm hoping to be able to clean the main floors more often, which would be much easier if they were de-cluttered.)
Summer: dust and de-clutter the basement, with an eye towards making things like furnace and floor replacements easier (but also just to have it be less dirty and disorganised down there).
Autumn: inventory the attic, *maybe* getting rid of some stuff but no pressure (as a general rule, if it's in the attic, Mom has already refused to get rid of it once). I'm sure there's *some* useful or potentially-useful stuff buried in there, but as it stands we have little way of *knowing* about it. It would be much better if the boxes all had ID numbers and we had a spreadsheet listing each box and its contents.
(Of course we expect life in autumn to look very different from life in spring, so the schedule is subject to change, but that is, at least, the likely *ordering*.)
---
Most forms of cleanliness feel like absence-of-pain. It's unpleasant to *not* have them, but I don't really notice having them unless I take a moment to deliberately focus on them and reflect on how much worse things used to be.
Except, for some reason, vacuuming. I keep expecting having a freshly vacuumed floor to feel like absence-of-pain because why wouldn't it, but it's actually actively pleasing. Something in the vicinity of "relief" or "satisfaction".
...hmm, come to think of it, I think a clean stovetop and kitchen counter also have this effect to a lesser extent. Something about surfaces I interact with a lot, or maybe see a lot?
Should be useful for informing my cleaning priorities.
