tonight i got an odd inspiration to hang my pictures that have been sitting on my floor since i painted my room. that would be about 6.5 months. as i’m hanging, i’m noticing that there’s dust on the carpet and make a mental note that it’s probably time to vacuum. let me make it known that i hate, loathe, abhor, despise and whatever other synonym you want, vacuuming. i don’t know why, but i hate it. i would make deals with my roommates saying, i will clean the bathroom your week and my week if you always vacuum. no one ever turned it down. however, there was one semester i did get obsessed with cleaning because i had classes only 3 days a week and my roommate and i shed a lot of hair.
anyway, after i hung the pictures, i vacuumed and then decided i should dust as well. i also hate dusting. why? because it always comes back. so i walk down the hall to get endust and a rag. i pass by my parents’ room and call out to my mom.
“mom, i hate dust!” i said on the first pass by. she says nothing to this outburst.
“it’s like split ends, black heads and clingy boys. you can NEVER get rid of it!” i say on the second pass by. this time she acknowledges my outburst.
“only you would make that analogy, stacie.”