I hate cleaning. Obviously, everyone one hates cleaning. But after a while, it needs to get done.
Husband isn’t going to do it because that’s not what he does. And, if we’re being honest, I make the messes in this house. Mess making is my thing.
Unfortunately after a while of leaving messes to their own devices I feel some combination of uncomfortable, guilty and grossed out.
Usually my cleaning starts with the bathroom because bathrooms get their own special kind of unclean that gets harder and harder to ignore. It’s at least harder to ignore than socks in the couch cushions.
I clean the bathroom in stages. Starting with the toilet and ending with the shower.
First I put the toilet cleaner in the toilet and watch it run down the sides while I mentally pat myself on the back for cleaning the toilet. (repeat if necessary)
Secondly, I turn on my laptop or kindle fire and pick something to watch on Netflix. Then I turn on the overhead fan in the bathroom in case the chemicals get too toxic (though I’m convinced our bathroom fan is just a prop). Typically I’ll choose a TV show like Sgt. Frog because I don’t have to really see what’s happening (but it’d be nice).
Eventually, I start going through the clutter. I have an unfathomable number or hair products and a ridiculous level of shit just shitting all over my bathroom counter and shelves. Every other month I hate everything I own and instead of throwing it all out, I sort in into bins and containers to anger me another day when I wonder, “What the fuck is this box filled with bobby pins and lip gloss about?!”
So, technically, the clutter isn’t cleaned or killed so much as relocated and suppressed. Whatever.
It’s time to clean the shower. So I remove the rug and sweep out the bathroom into the hallway with every intention of vacuuming after.
I’m probably not wearing the right outfit for this so now I’ll need to change into something I don’t mind getting bleach on. And I should tie up my hair and find a surgical mask. Oh, and gloves.
Stalling sufficiently underway, this is when the magic happens, I fine one or two of my heartiest cleaners and saturate the shower walls, from top to bottom. The chemicals sit for about a half of and episode (anime come is two parts per episode) and then I do it again and watch the second half of the episode.
With a heavy heart, if the shower walls are less responsive than the toilet and refuse to fully clean themselves, I switch from videos to music.
I step into the shower (because leaning into the shower is for yoga champions and chumps) and scrub the thing from top to bottom. This usually isn’t hard because the chemicals didn’t just run down the walls doing nothing—they were just too lazy to do everything.
What does end up being difficult is the breathing of the air. Yup, this is where self-preservation comes in. It’s hard because after all my pussyfooting and almost doing this feels like I’m scaling a fucking mountain.
I have to continually remind myself that you can’t be a shower cleaning hero. Once the discomfort starts, I have to get out of the bathroom and over to the window (my bathroom has no windows and I’m sure that vent is just for show).
Once I’ve finished about a round or three of that nonsense I return to the DIY (in my acronym the yourself isn’t me it’s a finger pointed at anyone/anything else) chemical saturation method and resume watching cartoons in a room with windows.
Finally, an unimportant number of hours later, Husband asks why the bathroom rugs are in the hall and if I really intend to vaccum later.
To which I say, “Spray down the shower before you get in, it’s covered it chemicals.”