Tuesday, March 29, 2011

I Whine of Housework



Housework irritates me.  I love having a fresh, clean, tidy house but I hate getting there.  I am smugly pleased when it is finished, but I loath doing it.

Avoiding it doesn’t help.  The dust balls gather into tumbleweeds, get together with the loose cat hair and breed.  They twist and plait themselves into substantial dust-fur-spheres, then roll around searching out other bits of debris and dust lurking under the furniture… calling, Come join us!

Embarrassing, if ever someone comes to the door.  Doorbell rings!  I answer!  The sucking air motions made by opening the door mysteriously draw and attract the scuttling accumulations of dust-fur-globes.  There we all are: three cats, me, and myriad enormous dust-fur-balls milling around a visitor who pretends not to notice.   Embarrassing, but when that happens, it really is time to clean. 

Avoiding cleaning doesn’t help for another reason. I am highly allergic to house dust.  If I allow the cleaning to go unattended, distressing respiratory problems arise.  I sneeze repeatedly, hard uncontrollable sneezes, the kind that threaten damage to my ribs.  My eyes stream water, my sinuses swell.  I can’t breathe.

Housework irritates me; not doing housework irritates me, too!

Can writing this blog-entry be construed as avoidance of the dreaded housework?  Maybe, perhaps.  Must go, must clean, must vacuum, must dust, must dust, must dust…

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